


Lonely Hunter

by arabybizarre



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/F, Possession, Purgatory, Tumblr Prompt, Wayhaught - Freeform, and delving into waverly's parentage, lots of backstory for nicole, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabybizarre/pseuds/arabybizarre
Summary: Waverly is freed from possession at the expense of her girlfriend. Will Nicole become the sacrifice the demon needs to return to the Ghost River Triangle, or will she fight her way home?
Based on a tumblr prompt. Lots of Nicole backstory and Waverly soul-searching ahead. Rated M for future chapters.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaybear1701](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaybear1701/gifts).



> So, @jaybear1701 left me this prompt and I couldn’t resist: Haught somehow gets trapped in that demon dimension where that penis monster from the finale lives. She has to find her way back to Waverly. Set to Foals' "The Lonely Hunter." Bonus points if Haught turns out to be an angel or something. Lol

There had been exactly two instances in her life when Nicole Haught had stared down the barrel of a gun.

The first had been during her final month at the police academy, only a year and a half prior. She’d been on patrol late one night during the second week of field training, chatting casually with her partner as the cruiser rolled down a city avenue. It was a fairly routine patrol. Uneventful. Boring. Safe.

Until, of course, it wasn’t.

There had been a “minor scuffle” reported three blocks over. A group of south-side kids gathered beneath an overpass. A drug deal gone wrong. Nicole thought she could talk them down, flash a badge and send them scattering. They were _young,_ after all. A few of them did flee.

And then two more drew guns: one with a steady hand and determined gaze, the other trembling.

A gun was pointed at her. She hadn’t been prepared to draw her own. Her trainer shouted. And then he pulled the trigger. One kid crumpled, and the other ran—fast. But Nicole was faster. She tackled him to the ground, cuffed him, recited the Miranda rights for the first time.

The boy couldn’t stop apologizing as she led him back to the cruiser, earnest tears in his eyes. And Nicole learned two lessons that night.

One: _the tide of events can change far quicker than one can pull a trigger._

Two: _goodness is not an option afforded to all._

* * *

The second instance had come only days before, when Willa Earp had pointed her gun at Nicole’s chest in a bid to pry Peacemaker from Wynonna’s grasp. A surreal moment, if there had ever been one. She remembered how loudly her own heart seemed to beat in her ears, the way the room filled with static. On one hand, it was a terrifying situation. Willa was cold and Nicole had no reason to trust her.

On the other hand, she could hear the tears in Waverly’s pleas just as loudly, hear the _I love her_ she probably wasn’t meant to, and her body succumbed to a blistering, steadfast calm. The barrel was trained on her, after all. Waverly would be safe.

The moment the bullet impacted with her vest, another lesson was learned:

_We don’t always get what we bargain for._

* * *

It was a grim thought then, as she stared down the barrel of Waverly Earp’s gun, and her mind seemed to whisper _third time’s a charm._

She should have been terrified again. Waverly’s eyes were not her own. They swam with an otherworldly obsidian, the depths of which seemed intent on drowning Nicole. Her mouth quirked, lopsided, into a predatory grin.

_It’s not Waverly,_ Nicole had to remind herself, over and over, just to maintain her nerve. It was easy to forget, as everything Waverly had been—warmth, levity, compassion—disappeared into the dark ether of possession. But Waverly _was_ still in there (she hoped), and if even a shred of that effervescence remained, Nicole would fight for it.

She took a deep breath, body suffused again with calm determination.

“Waverly, you need to listen to me.”

She could hear a gun cock behind her. Her own pistol remained safely in her holster. She raised her hands.

“Agent Haught,” Dolls began, voice even. “You might want to step back.”

Nicole ignored him. “Waverly,” she tried again. “I know you’re still there.”

Behind her, Wynonna shifted, brow furrowed in fear-born fury. She knew what the evil was that had taken root in her sister. Something beyond revenant, beyond their curse. Something beyond the ghost river triangle. An ancient that fed upon the darkness and despair present in its victims, and amplified it until it consumed them wholly.

She’d known Waverly her entire life, and that girl had always been sweetness and light. It agonized her that the wyrm had nested in the youngest Earp, tearing open whatever long-closed wounds Waverly had harbored. Wynonna tightened her grip on Peacemaker. If she lost her baby sister to this, she wouldn’t bear it.

But, as much as she hated to admit it, they couldn’t bring her back at the price of pulling the trigger. The gun was trained on Nicole’s head this time, not her chest. There would be no Kevlar to save her. And Wynonna knew neither one of them could return from that.

“Don’t be stupid, Haught,” Wynonna warned, voice tight.

Nicole glanced quickly over her shoulder. “I’ve got this.” She had to believe it. Waverly had been buried. The only way they could exorcise the wyrm from her body is if they brought her spirit back to the surface. It would only take moments for them to perform the ritual thereafter. She knew Waverly was strong enough for that.

“You don’t want to shoot me,” she said with gentle confidence.

Not-Waverly cocked her head. “I don’t?”

Nicole swallowed. “No. You don’t.”

“You sound quite sure of yourself, officer.” The gun raised just a hair higher.

Nicole took a tentative step forward.

_“Haught—”_ Dolls tried to warn again.

“I’m sure of _you_ , Waverly. I _know_ you—I do. I know how strong you are.” Another step. The wyrm allowed it. “Strong enough to fight this thing.”

Not-Waverly’s eyes narrowed, her cocksure grin pinching slightly. Her hand twitched, trigger-finger jerking. Nicole held her breath. The darkness in her girlfriend’s gaze whorled and bade her forth. It seemed to carve something out of her, rending her stomach hollow.

The wyrm’s modulated baritone overcame Waverly’s vocal chords. It echoed through Nicole’s mind. “I won’t return to the darkness without a sacrifice.”

Nicole’s jaw clenched. “I think you’ve taken quite enough,” she growled.

All at once, the world seemed to darken, shadows encroaching. A sudden, dry wind whipped past the officer, chilling her.

“Nicole!” Wynonna shouted.

She surged forward, leaning into the barrel of the gun. “Waverly,” she called out again, desperation clawing at her insides. The gale whistled around her, and she gazed into the tempest raging in Waverly’s eyes. Her girlfriend’s body had begun to tremble, muscles coiling. “C’mon... c’mon, Waverly! I know you’re there, baby.”

Wynonna, Dolls, and Doc all pressed forward, struggling against the growing windstorm. Try as they might, they couldn’t seem to get close to where Waverly and Nicole stood, nearly toe-to-toe now, the gun pressing into Nicole’s brow.

A guttural hum rumbled up through Waverly’s throat, the wyrm protesting furiously. Nicole’s heart clenched to see Waverly’s body tremble so violently, the gun shaking in her grip. She pressed her advantage, steadying the barrel with a firm grasp.

Nicole smiled gently through her fear, gaze glossing over. “That’s it,” she whispered her encouragement. “You’ve got this. You’re so strong, Waves. _So strong._ You can beat this thing back.”

Not-Waverly opened her mouth, and the wyrm roared.

“C’mon!” Nicole shouted, her own body beginning to tremble. She felt precarious, unmoored, as if she could blow away at any second. “You’re almost there, baby. I can feel you. Just come back.”

The darkness in Waverly’s eyes began to recede, and Nicole held her breath.

The wyrm rioted.

_“Please.”_ Nicole begged, tears streaming. “I love you. Please, come back.”

Waverly’s knees buckled and the gun fell from her hand with a strangled gasp. Equally as overwhelmed by a sense of relief, of hope, Nicole caught her, dropping clumsily to the scorched earth beneath them. She clutched the woman, seeming so fragile, so small, tightly in her arms, as if attempting to squeeze the beast from her.

“Waves,” she breathed into her hair.

“Now, Dolls!” Wynonna cried, rushing to their side. She placed a shaking hand on Waverly’s head, soothing. “Just hold on, baby girl.”

“Officer,” Dolls drew Nicole’s attention, eyes focused and sure. With a commanding sense of delicacy, he implored Nicole to lay Waverly on her back. The woman’s eyes were closed, but darted frantically beneath her lids. Her body convulsed once.

“We best be quick, Deputy Marshal,” Doc growled.

It was a simple ritual—exorcism, as Dolls had experienced it, during a covert mission to an aboriginal village in southern Peru. The village had been built upon an ancient burial ground, where the inhabitants believed themselves to be the keepers of their fallen ancestors. When a demon loosed itself upon the keepers, Black Badge had been sent to swiftly eradicate the outbreak. There Dolls had learned of the keepers’ exorcism ritual.

Whether it would be strong enough to save Waverly, Dolls could not be sure. But he had seen it work in multiple cases, all across the globe. All it really took, in his opinion, was a strong enough will on the part of the possessor, enough awareness and determination to return to themselves. And while Xavier could not be certain what horrors Waverly had experienced in the days since her possession, he was certain that nothing could wholly diminish that stubborn Earp will.

“Hold her head back, Haught,” Dolls instructed.

Nicole nodded, unable to take her gaze from Waverly’s pallid face.

“The salt?” Doc asked. Dolls nodded, and the gunslinger dropped a ring of salt around their bodies. Dolls pulled a well-worn piece of parchment from his jacket, and began his recitation. The ancient tongue felt clunky in his mouth, but he’d recited the words before and he could do it again.

Nicole felt a pang at this part—this was exactly the kind of thing they needed Waverly for, the kind of work that made her hum with curiosity and excitement. Nicole tightened her grip around her girlfriend’s shoulders.

As dolls finished his recitation, Waverly’s body began to lightly seize, eyes darting faster beneath her lids. “The tea, Earp.”

Wynonna pulled out the thermos, containing a tea steeped with a mixture of uncommon herbs and roots. It had smelled wretched during boil, and their noses wrinkled collectively as the thermos was uncapped. Nicole gently tipped Waverly’s mouth open, and Wynonna lifted the thermos to her lips.

“Sorry about this, baby girl,” she muttered, pouring the liquid into her mouth slowly. Instinctively, Waverly swallowed and immediately began to sputter, face scrunching with distaste.

“Keep going. She just needs a bit more,” Dolls insisted.

The muscle spasms increased, until finally, Waverly coughed, a viscous black ichor bubbling up out of her mouth. “Shit,” Nicole and Wynonna seemed to mutter simultaneously, startled.

“Sit her up. This is normal,” Dolls assured them, voice hopeful. Nicole and Wynonna pulled Waverly into a sitting position, tipping her head to the side. The ichor gushed out in a single wave, staining the grass beneath them. Her body shook, choking up the last vestiges of the ichor.

“We need to step back now.” Nicole looked up at Dolls, the thought of releasing her hold on Waverly causing a fresh wave of panic to roil within her.

Wynonna grabbed her shoulder. “We have to listen to him.”

Nicole nodded, gently laying Waverly on her back, and stepped outside of the circle, a few yards back with Wynonna beside her. Dolls finished the final two stanzas of the chant, and for a moment, all seemed calm, unmoving, save for the slight tremble in Waverly’s limbs.

Until she arched forward, screaming, the darkness departing from her open mouth in a thick, fast-moving mist.

_“Oh god,”_ Nicole whispered, grounded in her alarm. The mist rapidly slithered across the grass, near-corporeal, but dissipated suddenly in an audible, almost pained hiss. Their breath seemed to catch collectively, hearts skipping a beat, before Waverly thumped softly back onto the ground, motionless.

Nicole and Wynonna rushed forward together, though it was the officer who gathered Waverly in her arms, brushing sweat-matted hair from the woman’s forehead.

“Is that it?” Wynonna asked frantically, looking to Dolls. He crouched down, peering at Waverly with intense scrutiny.

Doc stood over the blackened grass where the mist had settled and died. “I have had few experiences with demonic possessions, but this looks to be a _purging_ if I have ever seen one.”

Dolls placed a hand on Waverly’s forehead, her cheek, gauging temperature. “I’ve seen _more_ than a few, and this all looks right to me. She’s a little feverish, but that’s to be expected.”

“Shit,” Wynonna sighed in relief, scrubbing a hand tiredly down her face. The unshed tears shone in her eyes.

Nicole, on the other hand, couldn’t shake her furrowed brow, the unease in the pit of her stomach. She stroked Waverly’s cheek gently with her thumb. It seemed almost too much to hope that she was free. Having stared into the wyrm’s abysmal gaze, she knew how deep the well of despair ran. She couldn’t possibly believe until—

Groggily, Waverly’s eyes fluttered open—once, twice—her gaze unfocused. Nicole’s heart nearly stopped. Pain flashed across her girlfriend’s face as her eyes struggled to center on the woman hovering above her.

“Waves?”

Waverly blinked, gaze finally clearing. “Nicole,” she whispered, voice feeble.

“Hey…” Nicole’s throat tightened, a smile breaking over her face.

“H-how did—” She coughed, teeth stained gray from the ichor, and Nicole shushed her.

“There’ll be time for answering questions later. Right now, we need to—”

Something tugged at Nicole’s back— _no_ —something _pulled._ Hard. Hard enough that she felt as though an invisible hand had reached through flesh and grabbed hold of her spine.

It happened in an instant.

Quicker than either Wynonna, Dolls, or Doc could have pulled a trigger.

The wyrm, the mist—its final vestige—had drifted up through the earth, seizing a moment of Black Badge distraction.

And it claimed the sacrifice it had demanded.

Nicole heard shouts, a weakened scream. She could see them drawing their guns, Peacemaker’s barrel only just beginning to glow as she descended.

She glanced into Waverly’s confused, terrified gaze for one split second before she was pulled into the blackened earth.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback from the first chapter! I hope you all enjoy the next installment.

Nicole woke with a start. Her eyes drifted open to a cold, gray-blue blur, the brightness of it overcoming her almost immediately. She clenched her eyes shut, heart beating inexplicably fast, and willed herself to breathe as her mind struggled to catch up to her body.

She registered the pliant graininess beneath her body, where she lay belly-down on the ground. The earth seemed to stick to her. Inhaling deeply, first through her nose and then her mouth, she could smell and taste the briny tang in the air. She shivered as a slight wind cut through her, the sound of water lapping gently at the shore—

_No,_ she told herself, struggling to sit up. Nicole scrambled to her feet, tripping backwards before catching her footing at the last moment. “Waverly!” she called, spinning around. “Waves!”

It was then that she took in her surroundings: the distant cityscape—a grid of tightly packed rowhomes, bisected by railways and highways; the exoskeleton of a looming steel mill; the lights ricocheting from building to building, drowning out the stars above. And lastly, she trembled, turning to gaze out at the expanse of Lake Michigan.

Her heart pumped faster. Nicole stepped back, instinctively reaching for the holster on her right hip.

A holster that was not there.

Panicked, she glanced downward. There was a holster, a gun, but on the entirely wrong side. Wrong gun, too, she realized, patting herself down in alarm.  Her uniform wasn’t right.

Khaki pants had been replaced with black slacks, her leather utility belt the same color. Her shirt was a lighter blue, and there, on the arm: the coveted _Chicago Police_ patch she had worked so long, so tirelessly to earn.

“What the hell…” she whispered, whipping her head around. In the distance, she could not hear the sounds of passing cars, of sirens, or the shouts of late night debauchery. Only the gentle susurrations of Lake Michigan, edging up on Calumet Beach.

_Calumet Beach._

So many childhood summers had been spent here with her mother and brother, trekking to Calumet Park in the early morning. They’d leave just after breakfast, when the grass was still dewy, catch the Red Line south, and hoof the last few blocks. Mom would pack pb&j sandwiches, Jessie and her would tote their shovels and pails—

The echo of a laugh darted past her. Nicole whipped around, heart in her throat. Clear as day, she could see _herself_ —knee-high, all sunburnt and freckled, sprinting towards the water; Jessie chasing close behind, taller but still lanky and small. Her heart clenched, hand reaching for her chest, for her thumping heart. Their mother, Rebecca, appeared behind, young and beautiful.

“Not until sunblock is on!” she called, exasperated. “Jessie, grab your sister!”

She turned back in time to see Jessie grab her younger self around the waist. As he hoisted her up, she squealed, and the pair disappeared. Fading into thin air. Nicole turned back. Her mother was gone, too.

Nicole’s brow furrowed. She felt ill. “Oh my god,” she whispered. A slight mist hovered over the water, reminding her of the evil that had slithered from Waverly’s lips. The evil that had pulled her underground.

“Oh my god.” Her voice had begun to rise, to pitch. She clutched at her CPD patch, stared back at the city.

“I’m dead.”

* * *

  
Nicole’s apartment was empty. Or, at least, that was how it felt as Waverly stepped through the door, queasy and adrift. She stood at the threshold for several moments, hesitating before she set the spare key on the table by the door—the key that Nicole kept in her desk at the station, for occasions such as this.

For nights when she wouldn’t be returning home.

Waverly inhaled shakily. It all felt too sudden, too much. The death of her oldest sister, her possession, watching helplessly as Nicole was sucked into the earth. Disappeared. It had been days, but to her, had felt like moments. She regretted declining Wynonna’s offer to accompany her to the apartment. Shaky, she clutched the doorframe.

And then she heard an insistent meow, saw the tabby padding out from Nicole’s bedroom, and stepped through the door, shutting it softly behind her. Calamity, warm to Waverly from their very first meeting, slinked over and brushed herself against the woman’s boots, meowing louder.

“Hey, girl,” Waverly said, clearing her throat. She bent down and lifted the cat into her arms, Calamity relaxing back into her hold. The first time Waverly had ever come over, Nicole had warned her that Calamity didn’t like to be held by anyone but herself. Waverly seemed to be the exception. The memory caused her throat to tighten. Nicole had looked so smitten to be proven wrong.

“Are you hungry?” Calamity meowed again in response. Waverly set her down on the kitchen counter as she refilled both of the cat’s dishes. She petted her softly while she ate, brow furrowing as she glanced about the apartment.

She straightened a pile of unopened mail on the counter. Turned on the lamp beside the couch. Retrieved an empty mug from the coffee table and placed it in the dishwasher. It was compulsory and maybe even slightly intrusive, but she walked through the living area and simply touched things—knick-knacks and picture frames. It calmed her, grounded her.

Eventually she wandered into the bedroom and sat at the edge of the bed. She smoothed her hand over the unwrinkled comforter. Unlike Waverly, Nicole made her bed every morning. She had told her she always slept better in tidy sheets. Then Waverly had kissed her neck and said it would be much more satisfying to mess them up.

That was when she sobbed. Just once, as she fisted the comforter. Calamity hopped on the bed beside her, finally sated. She rubbed up against Waverly’s arm, purring, and the woman pulled her into her lap.

“She’s coming back,” she whispered into the cat’s fur. “She’s alive.”

She believed it. She had to.  


* * *

Nicole sat in the sand for a time and cried. Because she was dead, and never once, in all her imagined scenarios of the end, had she believed she would be so conscious of it. Death was proving to be frustratingly tactile.

She cried, and she imagined her four-year-old self on this same beach. Crying because Jessie had gotten jealous that she’d built a better sandcastle than him and thrown a fistful of sand into her face.

And then, suddenly, little Nicole was sitting next to her, crying and wiping the snot from her nose.

With a shaking hand, Nicole reached over. Her fingers hovered over the girl’s shoulder for a moment before she allowed them to touch. The skin rippled on contact, but she could feel a physical presence underneath—solid, if not somewhat _slippery_. The girl faded just a moment later, the echo of Nicole’s mother fading with it. She’d been calling her name.

Nicole stared at the empty space for a moment before wiping her sandy hands on her pants and standing. She looked up. The sky was unbelievably dark, with not a star or even a trace of the moon in sight. Yet beneath it, the city seemed positively lit, nearly shimmering. Drawn and somewhat cold, she walked north.

There were no other figures walking the avenues, unless she thought about it—long forgotten memories, each of them—and imagined them into existence for a few fleeting moments before walking directly through them. She wondered if this is what it truly meant to be a ghost.

She tried catching the Red Line. She could still remember all the local train and bus schedules. It was rote. After years and years riding the same lines, walking the same streets (same alleyway shortcuts), her feet carried her without thought. Which was a good thing, she realized, because it was almost impossible for her, even in death, to focus on anything but Waverly Earp’s face. Whether or not Waverly was _okay_. For a brief moment, she was actually grateful that they hadn’t known each other very long. It would be easier for Waverly to move on then.

A pang cut through her heart, sharp enough to steal the breath from her.

Nicole stood on the platform for several minutes, waiting for the train. She wore a watch on her wrist, but the hands had stilled. _3:24,_ they read—an innocuous time. A clock hung from a pillar on the other side of the platform. That, too, had died. She waited a little while longer, but eventually gave up.

It was an hour’s walk home. Or to where home _used_ to be, she corrected. She hadn’t allowed herself to step foot back into her mother’s house in years. She was reluctant to do so even now, but after knocking on and twisting the handles of several doors, she realized she had nowhere else to go. The streetlamps lit as she walked, lighting for her a block in advance, guiding her way.

She stood on the front stoop of Rebecca’s house for several minutes after she arrived, kicking at loose stones, hands stuffed into her pockets. She was hampered by the idea that, if she walked through the door, her mother might actually be there. Or the house might be empty. And given present circumstances, she couldn’t tell which would be worse.

Still, the night was cold and the unknowing even colder. When she turned the handle, the door gave, creaking open with ease.

She stepped nervously inside, mouth dry. Hesitating, she called out, “Mom?”

But she was alone. Nicole’s heart clenched again. She walked through the living room, standing beneath the archway leading into the kitchen. Though the house was undeniably still, not a speck of dust coated the furnishings. There were dishes in the sink, a basket of laundry sitting on the washer at the back of the room. Everything was as she’d expected. Glancing at the refrigerator, she saw a picture of herself, dressed in uniform on the day of her academy graduation.

Everything remained as it had been the day that she’d left.

“Nicky,” her mother sighed.

Heart ratcheting, Nicole spun. She saw herself standing in the center of the living room, wearing the same uniform. There was blood on her shirt. Her mother sat on the couch, staring up at her with pleading, disappointed eyes.

_“You knew.”_

“No,” In the kitchen, Nicole closed her eyes, clenching fists. “Don’t remember.”

She didn’t need to look to see her younger self nodding guiltily.

Closing her eyes didn’t help. She still _saw_ it. It was inescapable. And the more she resisted, the more real it felt _._

Rebecca’s voice broke over a sob. “Why?”

“I—” Nicky stuttered. “I thought that—”

“Why didn’t you do something?” Her mother shouted, stood. And both Nicole and her younger self shrank back.

_“I thought I could fix it all on my own,”_ they both whimpered at the same time.

Nicole’s eyes blurred with tears, and the figments disappeared.

On instinct, she ran. Out the back door, through their small yard, and up the back alley. When she next turned a corner, she landed on 86th, the street flooded with darkness. She turned right, but stopped when she saw a sudden light casting shadows behind her.

Hands shaking, she turned. A single lamp was lit half a block away. And standing beneath it, face enshrouded in darkness, was a man. Graying hair covered by a battered baseball cap, flannel shirt and black jacket. Even in the low light, she could see the gentle, seemingly harmless smile curved over his lips.

Her heart skipped in warning.

“Nicole Haught,” he called to her, voice sounding closer than he appeared. “Can we talk?”


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicole finds some answers, while Waverly and Wynonna have a candid conversation.

Nicole wasn’t a runner. She wasn’t a _coward._ She was the type of person who always faced her fears head on.

Or, at least she had been before she got here. Before death.

She still felt that surge of indignance at her courage being tested, that instinctive sense of rebellion towards a threat. She felt it now, watching the man beneath the street lamp smile and step forward, calling out her name.

She felt it compound with her loss and fear and the indomitable guilt laid upon her by Rebecca’s words, and without thinking she turned.

And for the first time in a long time, Nicole chose to run.

She sprinted to the end of the block, heart hammering in her ears in time with each footfall, and turned a corner onto the next avenue.

And there he was again. Beneath another street lamp. Same garb, same smile. Disbelieving, she looked behind her, to the darkened street lamp under where he’d just been standing, and immediately took off in the opposite direction.

And again, he was there.

Nicole struggled for words. For her, this was more than fear. This was panic. Compressing her ribcage, tightening her lungs, pulling a cold sweat from her brow. She scrambled and spun. The man was everywhere.

He held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I _just_ want to talk to you,” he explained slowly, calmly. “I’m not here to harm you.”

She was only marginally reassured. “You’re not a memory,” she sputtered, breath coming quick and short.

He glanced down at himself. “No, I don’t suppose I am.”

“So you’re… you’re here—” It dawned on her then, eyes widening. “Shit. Are you supposed to be… the reaper?”

The man’s brow furrowed for a brief moment before he chuckled, shaking his head. “Definitely not.”

Nicole grew suspicious, that same sense of indignance momentarily overriding fear. “Who are you?”

“You can call me JC.”

She had to laugh. The world had a sick sense of humor, even… after. “Are you trying to tell me _you’re_ Jesus?”

He laughed, too. “Juan Carlos, actually.” JC took a single step forward, and Nicole a step back. “Trust me when I say, there ain’t nothin’ holy about this place.”

“Well, that’s comforting…” she muttered.

“I’m not here to mollycoddle you.”

She felt a new surge of frustration. “Then why are you here? And _where is_ here, anyway?”

JC paused, choosing his words with deliberation. “Someplace you _really_ shouldn’t be.” He took another step forward. This time, she stayed where she was.

Eyes narrowing, she asked, “Why’s that?”

“Because,” he smiled, almost wryly. “You’re still alive.”

Nicole’s heart nearly stopped. She didn’t want to hope, but the force of it bore down on her nevertheless. She could feel the _maybes_ and _could bes_ blooming dizzyingly in the pit of her stomach.

“Why should I believe that?” she asked quietly, angrily. “You’re a damn demon, for all I know.”

JC chuckled. “Hardly.” Glancing over his shoulder he asked, “How about we go for a walk?”  


* * *

Waverly and Wynonna sat across from each other at the kitchen table, quiet enough that they could hear the clock ticking on the wall. The older Earp stared intently at the bottle of whiskey in her hands, picking at the label before taking a long pull. She offered the bottle to her sister then, who took it without hesitation. The burn of the liquor warmed her insides, coming in contrast with the chill clinging to her skin. She shifted, holding more tightly to the small, warm body in her lap.

Calamity meowed, rubbing her head gently against Waverly’s hand. It hadn’t been the woman’s intention to take the cat home with her. But she’d been to Nicole’s apartment twice to feed her, and had left feeling sick both times. The emptiness of it bothered her immensely. And she could sense that Calamity felt the same way. Bringing her back to the homestead had been a comfort to them both.

Waverly slid the bottle back across the table and sighed, running a hand through her hair. Wynonna glanced at her expectantly. They were supposed to be talking about what had happened—not just with Nicole, but before that.

“It’s hard to remember,” Waverly muttered finally, frowning. The images returned to her fractured and hazy, as if stamped out by a night of hard drinking. Days she had been missing, wreaking any manner of havoc they could conceive of, but she only remembered parts. Moments. Conversations.

She remembered the end, the way Nicole had anchored her with the sound of her voice, the words she had spoken. She could remember, briefly, Wynonna attempting to do the same; and subsequently, the way the darkness had overcome her when her sister had hissed, _“You can fight this, baby girl. You’re an_ Earp _!”_

She swallowed, throat tightening. “I get bits and pieces of it. I can see myself walking through the woods… a fire… a woman.”

Wynonna sat up, curious. “Do you remember who she was?”

“Not really. I can’t even recall her face. Just…” Waverly hesitated. She could see the woman turning away from her, retrieving a box from a cupboard. Then the photograph she had placed in her hand, of some man she’d never met. She remembered her words: _“You should know where you came from.”_ But that was it.

Waverly shook her head, glancing up at Wynonna. She didn’t want her sister to know the truth, or at the very least, what Bobo had _told_ her was the truth. But aside from Nicole, it was all she could really think about since she’d come back from the wyrm, and it was eating at her.

“What is it?” Wynonna asked gently. She reached across the table, setting her hand atop Waverly’s.

Her eyes blurred with tears. “I have to tell you something,” she said quietly.

“Anything.” Wynonna squeezed her hand a little tighter.

Waverly took a breath. “Before you and Doc found Willa at the gate, I went looking for her at the tree house. I found Bobo instead.”

Wynonna’s face darkened. “What did he do?”

“We just talked,” Waverly quietly assured her.

“That’s it?”

“Wy,” Waverly met her sister’s gaze. “I swear.” She hesitated then. “He had a long history with Willa. And in his own way… I think he really did love her.” Wynonna’s jaw squared. “In his own _messed up_ way. And I couldn’t help but feel like… I don’t know. He’d watched after us, too.”

“What?”

“Out of allegiance to Willa maybe. He’d just kind of… been watching us over the years.”

Wynonna took another swig from her bottle. “You’re not weirded out by that?”

“I am. He seemed to… know an awful lot. About daddy. And us.”

Wynonna’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t stupid. She could see the way her sister averted her gaze, the way she fidgeted. She could see the troubled knot in her brow. “Waves.” She tried to get her to look at her. “What did he tell you?”

Waverly paused. Finally, she looked at her sister. “He told me I’m not an Earp.”  


* * *

Nicole kept her distance as they strolled down the street, glancing sidelong at her strange companion every few moments. She was still wary of his motives, but with his hands stuffed casually in his pockets, his expression so cavalier, he hardly seemed a threat.

“I can understand why you’d think I’m a demon,” he said calmly, looking over at her with a small smile. “I’m the first corporeal thing you’ve seen since you woke up. The first thing not tied to a memory.”

“How do you know that?” she asked, apprehension spiking.

“Because I’ve been here before. Many times.” He peered down the street then, seeming to reconsider. “Well, not _here,_ per se. It’s always different.” Nicole stopped in her tracks, fists clenching at her sides. JC loped along a couple more yards before he yielded, looking back at her. “Yes?”

“If you want to talk to me, you’re going to have to cut the bullshit,” she ground out. “All your… vague insinuations and cryptic hints.”

He canted his head to the side. “I was trying to ease you into it.”

“You said it yourself: _no mollycoddling.”_

He paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Fair enough.” The man looked around, gesturing broadly at the city before them. “Welcome to purgatory.” She stared at him, confused. “The liminality, not the town.”  


* * *

“I’m sure he did tell you that. Because he’s a liar.” Wynonna was standing, pacing.

Waverly could only shake her head. “I’ve thought about it—”

“Why in the hell would you believe a goddamn revenant anyway? You’re smarter than that, Waves.”

Wynonna wasn’t just angry. Waverly could see it. The anxiety crowded around her. Steeling herself, Waverly set the cat gently on the floor and stood.

“I am smart,” she agreed. “And I suppose I shouldn’t jump to any conclusions until we take a DNA test or something—”

“I’ll call Dolls right now—”

“No,” Waverly shut her down firmly. “Dolls is trying to figure out what took Nicole. That’s priority.” Her heart clenched again, suddenly, and she had to calm herself. “But I need you to think about this—the way that I’ve thought about it, okay?” She walked around the table and took another sip of whiskey. “Daddy did _not_ like me.”

“Waves—”

“Don’t, Wynonna. I came to terms with that a long time ago. He loved you and Willa, in his own way. He even doted on you when he was sober enough to actually care. But me? He couldn’t stand to look at me half the time.” She looked away again, wrapping her arms around herself. It still hurt to admit it, after all this time. “And Mama left when I was so young.”

Wynonna stared intently at the floor, every muscle in her body coiled tightly. Waverly could see the glint in her eyes, the tears she didn’t want to shed.

“Wouldn’t it make sense? Mama gets knocked up by some other man, and when Daddy finds out, she bolts. And then… I’m left here—a _reminder_ —”

“Stop.” Wynonna’s voice was choked. She shook her head, and strode forward, cupping Waverly’s face in her hands. Her voice was low, fiery when she spoke. “Listen to me: what Mama did? It doesn’t matter. What Daddy felt, or thought, _doesn’t matter._ Because they’re both gone. But _you’re_ still here, Waves. And you’re still my sister.”

Wynonna could feel the wetness of Waverly’s tears on her shoulder when she held her then—tighter than may have been comfortable—but Wynonna needed it. Waverly needed it.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered into Waverly’s hair. “You’re my sister, and nothing can take that away.”

It was true, Waverly knew. No matter who her father actually was, she knew her sister would always be just that. Still, understanding where she’d come from? It mattered.

And it mattered because the wyrm had told her it mattered.

That much she could remember.

* * *

 

“Purgatory? I thought I was…” She swallowed, throat tightening against another surge of panic.

“Dead? Under normal circumstances, you would be, if you were here. And to be honest, I’m sure that was the wyrm’s plan. But he bungled it up somewhere along the way.”

Nicole’s brow furrowed. “He said he needed a sacrifice.”

“He does,” JC nodded. “That Peacemaker wasn’t quite enough to put him down, but it did weaken him considerably. Without a mortal life, there’s no way he’ll be able to return.”

“So, where is he now?”

JC stuffed his hands back into his pockets, smile fading slightly. “Here, I’d reckon. He pulled you down with him, after all. He was just only strong enough to make it halfway.” He stepped forward then, appearing genuinely concerned. “And I’d keep an eye out, if I were you. Because he’ll be hiding.”

“Hiding?” Nicole asked, somewhat sarcastically. “In a closet? A dark alleyway?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No. That would be too obvious.” He waved her onward, and they resumed their walk down the avenue. “This is your world now,” JC explained, glancing down at her. “Your memory. If he’s here, he’ll have wormed his way into your script somehow.” He smirked then. “No pun intended.”

“Okay,” she nodded, eyes narrowing in thought. “How are you here then? Or why?”

“I was just getting there,” he said. They turned a corner, the lamps lighting their way. “You wanna know what I am?” She nodded eagerly. “By human standards, an angel is probably the best fit. But I find the term a little played out.”

Nicole couldn’t help but snort, looking him up and down. “An angel? Are you serious?”

He shrugged. “I told you—just the closest approximation of it.”

“You got wings somewhere under that jacket?”

JC cringed. “That’s why I hate the term. It’s all muddled up in your human religion.”

“Okay,” she said, shaking her head. “Got it. You’re a pseudo-angel.”

“Think of me more like a gatekeeper. It’s my job to keep the demons from crossing over into your world.”

“You’re doing a bang-up job.”

“Hey,” he scolded, seeming only mildly affronted. “There’s a hell of a lot more of them than there are us. And they’re much uglier, to boot.”

“Sorry,” she smirked.

“You’re not. But you should be, seeing as the other half of my job directly pertains to your current predicament.”

“Purgatory?”

He nodded. “I keep the demons out, and keep the humans _in._ And when you all pass, I help you breeze through here and on to the next part.”

“Which is?”

He offered her a dry glance. “Classified.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “Of course it is.”

“Look—it’s better if you don’t know.” She narrowed her eyes. Then, more softly, he continued, “You know too much already, Nicole. I’m sorry.”

Her stomach dropped, the earlier nerves returning. “But… you _can_ help me, right? With getting back? Like you said, I’m not _supposed_ to be here, and it’s your job—”

JC stopped her, laying a hand on her shoulder. It felt solid, human. “That’s all true. Except for the fact that _I_ didn’t bring you here, and I’m sure as shit not holding you here either.”

She sighed. “The wyrm.”

“Right. And I will gladly help you send the bastard back to hell, but like I said, this is _your_ world. Your memory. The only one who can find him is you.”

“Shit,” she muttered, running a hand over her forehead nervously. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

“Purgatory is all about mistakes. Regrets. The people and places you try to bury in life.” He stopped, pointing up at the streetlamp overhead, and smiled. “You think I’ve been making that happen, don’t you?” She stared up at him, the answer plain. JC shook his head. “ _You’ve_ been lighting our way.”

“Me?”

Just then, the next lamp lit.

“I’m only following your lead, Nicole.”

She glanced between JC and the lamp, and then, finally, the nearest street sign. They’d made it to 103rd. Nicole’s heart clenched in her chest.

“Do you know where we’re going?” the gatekeeper asked, curious.

Nicole nodded, turning back to him.

“CPD, district four. We’re going back to my first station.”


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly and the gang figure some things out. Nicole just wants to go home, even if they means reliving the past.

Waverly startled when Dolls tossed the manila folder onto the table.

“This is no time for sleep, Earp,” he reminded her, placing a cup of coffee in front of her a second later, much more gently. Somewhat ashamed, Waverly tried to shake herself back into some sense of lucidity.

Sleep had not come easy to her the past few nights, for obvious reasons. Though she and Nicole had only had the opportunity to spend a handful of nights together since they began seeing each other—the majority of those nights spent merely sleeping—Waverly had already grown accustomed to the officer’s warmth in bed beside her. Now that she was— _missing_ , Waverly told herself—the woman’s absence loomed large enough to become a presence all its own. Something cloying, cold.

Waverly pulled Nicole’s sweater more tightly around herself, taking a sip of the too-hot coffee. “Sorry,” she muttered, gesturing to the books splayed open in front of her. “This isn’t exactly the most rousing material.”

“Really?” Wynonna sarcastically asked, mouth half full of donut. “Never would’ve guessed.”

Waverly scowled slightly. Normally she would’ve found this research to be more exciting, but this time the stakes were higher, more personal, and the lack of answers was growing exponentially more frustrating with every dusty tome she leafed through.

Dolls tapped the folder again. “You’re in luck then. I think this might do the trick.”

Curious, Waverly opened the folder, eyes widening when she saw the grainy photo sitting atop the file. She held it up to the light, studying it carefully before passing the photo to Wynonna.

“Well, shit,” Wynonna agreed before glancing up at Dolls. “That’s our penis monster, isn’t it?”

“Wyrm,” he corrected, brow raised. “And yes. By all accounts, it is.” Waverly had already begun reading over the testimony.

“Rohat Tuek, Cambodia,” she pondered. “That’s a long way from the Ghost River Triangle.”

“So is South Africa, Iceland…” Dolls pulled a few different case files from the folder, laying them out across the table. “But I think you’ll find each occurrence is remarkably similar.”

“Damn. I guess that demon really gets around,” Wynonna observed.

“ _Demons_ , I suspect. There are several reported cases here, and a couple of them overlap. There are likely multiple entities at play, all of the same… species.”

“Demonic taxonomy?” Waverly asked, some of the old inquisitive spark lighting her eyes.

The Deputy Marshal could only shrug. “Makes sense.” He laid a hand over the files, drawing Waverly’s attention. “The files are yours to read at your own discretion.” He glanced at Wynonna then. “For now, how about the cliff notes?”

“Of course.”

Taking a seat at the edge of the table, Dolls began, “All reports of the Wyrm are dated within the past three years, with a gradual increase in sightings over that time. The majority of reports in here occurred within the past six months.”

“That’s probably not good,” Wynonna commented, plucking another donut from the box.

“No, it’s not,” Dolls shook his head. “And it may be a bit of a stretch, but there’s a definite correlation between Wyrm activity and revenant activity within the triangle.”

“You think they’re related?”

“Correlation doesn’t equal causation,” Waverly murmured, gaze fixated on the Wyrm. She could remember how it would speak to her, the sound and feel of its voice— _oily_ , she had thought. She shivered again, pulling at her sweater.

“That’s true. And I’m not saying they’re directly related, but I get the feeling that something is stirring.”

Wynonna frowned, freezing mid-bite. She remembered the strange man she’d encountered at the Purgatory line, and things he’d told her before disappearing. Into thin air. She swallowed, throat feeling suddenly tighter.  “We all know there’s things worse than revs outside the triangle,” she commented, a little too sober for either her sister or Dolls’ liking.

“Do we?” Waverly asked.

Wynonna met her eyes with answering solemnity. “Yeah.”

Dolls turned to the younger Earp. “The Wyrm fed on your pain, your anger. That’s what it does, right?” Waverly nodded tentatively, and Wynonna frowned again. The heir had a good idea exactly what pain the demon had fed on. “You were its vessel. Plan B, really. In its natural form it could’ve fed on hundreds of souls, easily. But Peacemaker wounded it badly enough that it couldn’t maintain corporeal form.”

“Hence the overactive goo puddle.”

Dolls ignored his partner’s commentary. “When we exorcised it, it was hardly a fine mist. Near dead, I’d guess.”

“And Nicole was…” Waverly’s chest tightened. “A last ditch effort.”

“Collateral.” He realized what he’d said as the anger flashed through Waverly’s eyes. “For all intents and purposes,” he hurriedly continued. “I’m sorry.”

Panic gripped her. “Are you saying she’s—”

“No,” Dolls quickly corrected. “Dead? No.”

“Are you sure?” Wynonna asked, eyes darting between him and her sister. She could already see Waverly teetering helplessly between hope and despair.

He paused. “Nothing is for sure. But the Wyrm was in its weakest state. It couldn’t _physically_ kill Nicole.”

“So what’s the alternative?” Waverly asked.

The Wyrm’s voice rose in her mind, unbidden.  A memory, still so fresh.

_Feed me_ , it had whispered, lancing through her with pains she had long since thought forgiven.

She stood suddenly, interrupting Dolls just before he could begin. “No,” she shook her head. “No, I—”

She knew.

“It’s weak, but it’s hungry. It can’t feed _on_ her, but…” She glanced between Dolls and Wynonna, fighting back a fresh surge of horror. She knew what the Wyrm was capable of. She had felt it.

And the thought of Nicole fighting that _alone,_ it was almost unbearable.

“It can manipulate her,” she whispered. “It can make _her_ feed it.” 

* * *

With enough willpower and self-deception, it’s not hard to convince yourself that you’re very far away from something. That you’ve divorced yourself from it entirely. That you’ve been gone a long time, when in fact you’ve only been gone a year.

But then stepping back into it, you realize just how close you’ve been all along.

The precinct had always had a very distinct smell to Nicole. Some mixture of freshly brewed coffee, gunmetal, and sweat. At one time, the fourth district had smelled like home.

Now, the aroma assaulted her, the memory—the bustling bodies, the din of voices and ringing phones, the sight of herself striding towards her desk with a file in hand—fading out, like a lost TV transmission.

“No,” JC calmly placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let yourself remember. It’s the only way out.”

“Right.” Nicole took a deep breath and nodded, the memory returning, this time with more clarity than it had since she’d woken up here. The less she resisted, the more she could feel.

She watched herself sit down at the desk, open up the file, and begin work on a report. Nicole took a few breaths, heart rate evening with each exhale. Until a man walked past her— _through_ her—and sat down at the desk opposite her old self, and the memory began to disintegrate again.

“Who’s that?”

Nicole grit her teeth. “My old partner.”

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the room had shifted. The furniture was older, the walls painted a bit brighter. The desks had been rearranged, and suddenly Nicole was running through them—ten-years-old—chasing after a laughing Jessie and another, older boy.

“Give it back!” Little Nicole called after them.

“C’mon,” her older self mumbled, shaking her head.

“AJ,” Nicole yelled, pleaded. “Please?”

The older boy stopped, glancing between Jessie and Nicole, seeming to consider his loyalty for a moment before sprinting forward and grabbing Jessie by the collar of his shirt. With ease, he yanked the pilfered Gameboy from Jessie’s hands.

“Hey!” Jessie protested.

AJ returned the Gameboy to Nicole, nodding sheepishly when she thanked him. He was fifteen then. Gawky and pimpled.

Jessie, voice cracking over a pubescent pitch, shoved AJ. “Pussy.”

The other boy shoved back, and Nicole knew they would’ve had each other on the ground had AJ’s father, Alex, not interrupted.

“Enough of that,” he scolded. “Some of us are working here, y’know.” The boys could only sneer at each other. “Do I have to separate you until Becca gets here?” AJ and Jessie shook their heads. Alex turned to Nicole then, expression softening. He was always soft with her—had been ever since Dad had passed. “These two knuckleheads bothering you?”

“Of course,” the girl  smiled.

Alex patted her shoulder. “Why don’t you come hang with the adults for a while. You two—” He pointed to the boys. “Outside. You need to cool off.”

The memory slowly started to fade, and for a moment, the precinct was empty. “Alex—the older man,” Nicole explained, “he was my dad’s best friend. And after Dad passed, he and his wife really stepped up. They helped us out a lot.”

Suddenly, the memory rematerialized, and Nicole saw herself at 21-years-old, laughing at some comment her partner had made.

“AJ was his only son. He was like a brother to us.”

The man answered a call from his desk phone, immediately standing and pulling his jacket over his shoulder. “966 in Chatham.”

Nicole stood, a stern yet excited expression on her face. “Lead the way, partner.”

The man turned then, and for a moment, Nicole shivered. She could have sworn he had looked right at her. “And he was my partner,” she admitted, voice solemn. Shaking off her unease, she followed the memory out the door, out to their cruiser. She stood beside the car for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

“We better get in,” JC warned.

She glanced at him sidelong before reaching for the door handle. Her hand passed directly through. “So, I can walk through walls?” she asked, skeptical. JC could only shrug, following her knowingly as she passed through the car door and slid into the backseat.

For a brief moment, Nicole felt like a kid again, sitting in the backseat with Jessie and AJ as Alex took them on a secret ride-along. But then she heard the cruiser’s radio crackle, _“Perpetrator escaped on foot, believed to be armed. Last seen heading north on 83 rd and MLK Drive. Proceed with caution.”_ It was night. The sirens lit up the street around them, and AJ hit the gas.

Nicole’s hands tightened to fists in her lap. She remembered what would happen next. The memory started to fade in and out.

“Easy now,” JC advised. “Calm yourself. Close your eyes.”

“That won’t help,” she snapped. She could still see it.

“So ground yourself,” he instructed, more firmly. “Think of something better. Whatever it takes to get you there.”

Focus did not come easy. She could still hear the police scanner, the ceaseless, enthusiastic chatter between herself and AJ. The shame rose quickly in her. She was still a rookie, she knew. But even just a year ago she had seemed so much younger, so much more naïve.

The law had seemed very black and white to her then. And she had been so trusting.

So blind.

“This isn’t the way home,” JC reminded her.

She breathed again. _Home._ She thought of her sparse, shoebox apartment. She thought of the grumpy, needy little tabby that had slept on top of her every night. She thought of the sheriff’s department.

She thought of Waverly walking through the door, two cups of coffee in hand. Sneaking glances into the Black Badge office every time Dolls or Wynonna breezed in and out, just trying to catch Waverly’s eye.

Waverly smiling at her from the front porch of the homestead. Smiling in the barn, as Nicole pressed her back into the wall. Smiling, grinning, laughing every time their eyes would meet from across a room. She thought about how, if she made it back from this thing, everything would finally be out in the open—with Wynonna, with Black Badge, with the department—and they’d have no need to hide what they felt for each other.

Around her, everything seemed to fade. “I want to go home,” she breathed.

“Then face this.”

* * *

She opened her eyes again.

This time, they were sprinting beneath the railway. AJ had instructed Nicole to take point, and she led their pursuit. Her gun remained safely in its holster. She could see the handgun sticking out the back of the perp’s pants as he ran. Fast, but not quite fast enough. Nicole’s legs were longer.

She tackled the perp to the ground, the wind rushing out of him as she pressed him belly-first into the dirt. Overhead, the train roared past, and Nicole had to shout to be heard. Beneath her, the perp, drowning in a too-big hoodie, squirmed.

“Don’t struggle,” she ordered, reaching for her cuffs. AJ lagged behind, glancing over his shoulder. His gun was drawn.

The perp panicked, attempting to sit up. He threw an elbow, nearly catching her on the chin. “Hey!” she and AJ both shouted. She grabbed the man’s shoulder before he could hit her again, and when he twisted, she pushed him onto his back.

A few yards away, Nicole had to look away from the memory. She shook her head, but turned back at JC’s insistence.

“Please,” Jessie stared up at his sister, pleading. “Nicky, please. I-I didn’t do anything!”

“Jessie?” She pulled back, shocked.

“Goddamnit,” AJ groaned, placing his gun back in his holster.

“You’ve gotta believe me! Please, just let me go and I’ll explain—”

“We got a call for a 966, Jessie,” Nicole growled, pushing him back. He was wiry, still too thin. He’d never really grown into his body. Unlike Nicole, who was taller, stronger, more confident. “You know what that is?”

“Nicky, I didn’t—”

“Drug deal. And they saw _you_ fleeing the scene. Armed.”

“ _Please._ I swear—”

“All right! Enough of this. Nicky,” AJ interjected, stepping forward. He grabbed her shoulder, pulling her off of Jessie.

“No,” Nicole shook her head, resolve flashing in her eyes. This had to have been one of AJ’s tests. “I can do it. I’ll take him in—”

“No,” AJ shook his head, too. “You won’t, Nicky. C’mon. Up.”

A little hurt, a little indignant, she complied. AJ was her partner, but she still considered him her superior. He was more experienced, more respected. He’d trained her. And though they were technically equals now, she still deferred to his judgment.

And so she stood, Jessie cowering beneath them.

After a moment, sneering down at the younger man, AJ said, “You, too. On your feet.”

 Tentatively, legs shaking, Jessie stood. Rigid with anger, AJ stepped forward, extending a hand between them. Nicole stared at the display in confusion, but said nothing. “Where’s the shit?” AJ asked.

Jessie’s jaw squared. After a moment, he reached into his pocket, and then his socks, pulling out five little baggies. Reluctantly, he handed them to AJ.

“What the fuck is that?” Nicole asked, fury rising. “ _Heroin,_ Jessie—”

“Chill out,” AJ demanded, glancing back at her. He studied the baggies in his palm. “This is all that’s left?” Jessie nodded. “You’re not lying to me?”

Jessie swallowed. “No.”

AJ leaned forward, grabbing him by the front of his sweatshirt. “I’ll knock your fucking teeth out if you’re lying to me, Jess.”

The younger man shook him off, offended. “I said I’m not lying.”

“Fine,” AJ ground out. Nicole stared between them. After a moment, AJ stuffed the baggies into his pocket. “I’ll take care of this. Now get out of here.”

Jessie’s eyes widened marginally. He nodded to AJ before glancing back at Nicole. Her brow furrowed as a wave of disappointment overcame her. Jessie opened his mouth, as if to say something, but thought better of it.

He ran.

Nicole stepped back, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. “You’ll take care of it?” she asked, incredulous.

Slowly, AJ turned to her. “What did you want me to do, Nicky? Take him to the station?”

She gaped at him, uncertain how to answer. “He—” She started and stopped. “He’s selling. Or using. Or _both_ ,” she could feel the anguish gripping her heart tightly. “He could _hurt_ somebody.”

“I said I’ll take care of it—”

Nicole stepped forward, incensed. “You’ve got his fucking _heroin_ in your pocket, AJ! You’re just going to make that go away?”

AJ’s eyes darkened, and Nicole was taken aback. He’d never looked at her like that before. So cold. “You have to understand: in some cases—” He pointed nebulously in the direction of precinct. “—what they don’t know, won’t hurt them.”

Nicole grit her teeth. “But I know,” she said lowly, heat pricking at the backs of her eyes.

AJ paused, all traces of emotion disappearing from his face.

“Then forget it,” he said, turning to walk away.


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicole faces things head on--her ticket home, but not an easy one.

Nicole spoke to the light, and the light listened. It led her and JC from beneath the overpass, twelve blocks to the east where she knew Jessie’s squalid apartment had been. They could have hitched a ride in the squad car, but she couldn’t bear the silence she knew had descended upon her and AJ on the way back to the station.

Walking helped. As she allowed herself to be pulled deeper into the memory, the world around her developed further. There were more bodies—strangers—walking the streets. Shop windows lit with garish neon signs. Car horns and conversations, distant, yet echoing faintly around her. It was more of a comfort for Nicole than she would have imagined. So different than the quietude she’d grown accustomed to in Purgatory, yet achingly familiar.

JC did not question her on what he’d seen, and for that she was grateful. But eventually she felt a need to justify, or explain. He was patient.

“Jessie was older than me—nearly three years. AJ a year older than him. They were both my brothers,” she told him. “Everyone in the neighborhood knew each other. We grew up with our cousins, too, but blood wasn’t everything.”

“Circumstance is sometimes a stronger tether,” he suggested.

Nicole glanced at him thoughtfully, the corner of her mouth pulling into a solemn smile. “Nice platitude.”

The angel shrugged.

Nicole turned back to the avenue ahead, streetlamps glowing a bit brighter in her quickened pace. Stuffing her hands into her pockets she continued, “I used to feel jealous, when I was a kid. Because Jessie and AJ were older, their bond was different. They were equals. AJ was always nice to me, but he never looked at me like I could take care of myself. He was always trying to protect me.” Her face darkened, and she scoffed. After that, she said no more, and the angel didn’t press her.

When they arrived at Jessie’s apartment building, Nicole found her former self already standing in the hallway outside of his door. After a moment’s hesitation, she stood beside the memory, arms crossing over her chest. Young Nicky, on the other hand, stood with her hands gripping her belt tightly, nails biting into the leather.

They heard footsteps climbing the stairs.

“That’s Jessie,” Nicole nodded.

Her brother stopped dead at the end of the hallway, eyes widening before resignation crumpled his fearful mien. Nicky pushed off from the wall, canting her head towards the door.

“Let me in. We’re going to talk.”

Hands shaking, Jessie failed to push the key into the lock, and his sister watched him falter, gaze piercing. As soon as the door opened, Nicky breezed past him, Nicole and JC following.

“Look at him,” she said, glancing back at her brother. “Even then, he was thinking of bolting.”

But Jessie knew better. He followed a moment later, shutting the door behind him.

Nicky didn’t fail to notice how he locked the deadbolt and chained the door. She scanned the studio apartment—mattress on the floor with a single cover, twelve inch TV in the corner, dishes piled in the sink. “Worried they’ll come for your valuables, Jess?” she asked knowingly.

He scrubbed nervously at the growth on his chin, looking anywhere but his sister. Desperate for something to do with his hands, he strode into the kitchenette and began opening cabinets aimlessly.

“You weren’t supposed to see that—earlier...” he muttered quickly, opening the fridge next.

Nicky scowled. It didn’t take much to stoke her ire. “That’s what you have to say for yourself?”

She stepped forward. Jessie shut the fridge door. He chewed at his lip, chancing a look at his sister. Immediately he averted his gaze and opened the refrigerator again, settling on a bottle of beer.

“That’s fine,” she scoffed, shrugging. “You don’t have to say shit, Jessie. I can say enough for the both of us.” He fumbled with the bottle opener as she stepped forward. Before he could take a sip, she tore the bottle from his hands, taking a long pull. Setting the beer down on the counter she looked him in the eyes and declared, “You’re an idiot.”

Jessie seemed to cower for a moment before his gaze hardened. He sneered, stealing his drink back, and strode around Nicky. He tried to put distance between them and failed.

“I’m not, actually.”

“No?” she asked incredulously.

Nicole, shaken by the scene playing out before her but feeling slightly more in control, more of a bystander, took a few tentative steps towards Jessie.

“Do you forget who’s older, Nicky?”

“No,” the younger woman shook her head animatedly. “You forget your _little sister_ is a cop?”

Standing just a foot from him now, Nicole studied her brother. Some of the details had escaped her then, in her fury, her anxiety. She hadn’t taken into account how prominent the bags beneath his eyes were, the small scabs on his face. His cheeks had thinned too, beneath his patchy beard. She grimaced, reaching out to touch him before she remembered just how futile the gesture was. Her hand dropped dully back to her side.

Jessie’s bloodshot eyes darted quickly as his jaw squared. “I’m well aware of that,” he said lowly. His mouth twitched, and Nicole took pause. It almost looked like… pity, flashing through his gaze.

“I should’ve known then.” Nicole shook her head, turning away. The scene continued to play out before her, and she allowed it. But instead of watching her brother, watching herself attempt to argue, she turned to JC. “He was using, too.” She pointed at Jessie as he denied this very claim. “And lying about it. Which…” she shifted uncomfortably. “I knew that. But I didn’t push him, and… I should have.”

JC placed a hand on her shoulder. “You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Yeah…” she watched herself storm out of the apartment, feeling suddenly guilty. She and JC followed.

She _had_ wanted to give Jessie the benefit of the doubt, of course. He was her brother, her only sibling. She wanted to protect him. But beyond that, she wanted to protect herself.

They’d had a typical relationship, growing up. When they were kids, Jessie had delighted in tormenting her. She was small for her age, up until eighth grade, when she’d sprouted suddenly, taking after her father in stature. Jessie had remained small, like their mother—wiry and lean. It wasn’t until she’d hit that gawky adolescent age that she’d learned to fight back, but even then, Jessie knew how to get under her skin.

They resented each other in many ways. Jessie, because his kid sister had inherited the courage their father had left behind, the integrity and sense of compassion he seemed to constantly stumble over. And Nicky… because her big brother was selfish. Because she had always looked up to him in spite of herself, and because time and again, he had rejected her, let her down.

“We had just gotten to a good place,” she thought out loud, following herself to the train station, lost in contemplation. “Our mom hadn’t been doing so well. She’d been having health problems. And in a weird way, it brought us together, you know? And then he had to go and do this.”

She was about to step onto the train, when she caught herself.

“What am I doing?” she asked. She was preparing to head _home,_ to her mother’s. She hadn’t even thought about it.

JC peered at their surroundings thoughtfully. The platform was bustling. “Will you look at that…” he mused.

The world around them had grown suddenly very _alive._ More vibrant. “What does that mean?” Nicole asked him, stumbling back onto the platform.

“It means you’re present.”

The thought unsettled her.

Overhead, the lamp went out, just as the light at the bottom of the stairwell turned on.

“Should we be heading back?” the angel asked.

Nicole’s eyes narrowed. “To the station,” she mumbled, frowning. “We need to speak to AJ.”

* * *

She’d waited until they were alone in the squad car, but even then, as she sat nervously composing her protest, AJ beat her to it.

“You need to let it go,” he ordered simply, calmly.

Nicky, laughed. In the backseat, Nicole seethed. “I let him off last night, because you told me to. And to be honest, I’m still not convinced that was the right thing.”

AJ paused, tightening his grip over the steering wheel. “Maybe not. I guess time will tell.”

“Is that all you have to say—”

“I’ll tell you again what I told you last night: _I will take care of it._ ”

“Great. Yeah. You’ll take care of it. And I’ll help you—”

“No.” The older man shook his head adamantly, sparing Nicky a pointed glance.

“What do you mean _no_?”

This time Nicole laughed, unamused.

“Nicky… you’re too close to this thing. Emotion is clouding your judgment—”

“Really? _Emotion_ is _clouding_ my judgment?”

“Yeah. It is.”

_“Bastard,”_ Nicole muttered. JC watched her sidelong. Her entire body had stiffened. Still, she was suffused in the memory.

“Then why don’t you tell me what the hell is clouding yours?”

“Nothing. I see this for what it is, Nicky.”

“What is it, AJ? Enlighten me.”

AJ’s eyes narrowed defensively. “Jessie isn’t a bad guy. You _know_ that. Even now. He’s a little screwed up, but his intentions—”

The young officer couldn’t control her emotions any longer. “I don’t give a shit about his intentions, AJ! He’s going to ruin his life!”

AJ paused again, frowning in disappointment. “I know it’s always been important to you to be _the bigger person_ , Nicky—” At that, she scoffed. “You’re good at that. I mean it.” He gazed out at the road thoughtfully, almost sadly. “I admire your integrity. But you have to understand—being a cop _here_ —in _this_ part of town… it’s not always gonna be cut-and-dry. When people go hungry, when they go homeless—or worse—they do _bad_ things.”

“Not everybody.” Nicky was stubborn. She had to be. Her father had never compromised his morals—not for despair, not for the greater good, not for anybody. It had likely played a hand in his death, but nevertheless, Nicky refused veer from his compass.

“No. For some people—” Her partner conceded, looking pointedly at her. “It just rolls off their backs. But for others, coming up short all the time, it defeats them. Makes them feel _cheated._   And if they turn back around and cheat the system then—are they wrong? Are they _bad_?”

Still, Nicky hesitated. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m trying to make you _understand_.”

She paused. “I get it. But that’s _them,_ AJ. Us—we’re trained to uphold the law. We have authority—”

“ _To an extent,_ ” he growled, voice rising. “You’ve gotta learn _when_ to use it, Nicky. This is the shit they don’t teach you in the academy. And you better cotton-on real quick, or you’re going to get yourself into trouble. It’s not all black and white. And here? Southside? This is the gray area.”

“Sure,” she conceded, utterly frustrated. “Morality—sometimes it’s subjective, or relative, or _whatever._ But the other times? It’s just common sense. I love Jessie. You know I do, AJ. _To death._ But he’s _not_ smart. He’s trusting. Too trusting. And I don’t know who the hell he’s gotten himself mixed up with, but I know that whatever it is they’re telling him, he’s gullible enough to believe it. I can’t trust him not to.”

AJ was quiet for several moments then. She waited. Finally, he admitted “You shouldn’t trust him. But me? You _need_ to trust me, Nicky.”

_“Liar,”_ Nicole whispered, unable to help herself. Then, even louder. “Liar.” She turned to JC. “You wanna see—what happened? Why I’m _here_?”

The angel was smart enough not to speak.

Nicole leaned forward then, addressing the memory directly. Addressing _AJ_ directly. “Show us. Show us what happened.”

Around them, the car disintegrated. The daylight vanished, replaced with the wavering fluorescence of a poorly lit garage. Nicole and JC stood amidst the cold tableau, the officer’s entire frame quaking.

There was a body before her—an unknown—crumpled on the concrete, blood pooling from his abdomen. Jessie was on his knees, the gun he’d used to pull the trigger now pushed to the other side of the room. His eyes were wide, disbelieving. And several feet away, AJ stood, sidearm raised on his partner.

He’d ordered Nicky to kick her own gun across the floor. It sat tauntingly at his feet, leaving her bare. Vulnerable.

“I followed him. I was so stupid,” Nicole ground out, and though the scene did not waver, multiple versions of herself, of Jessie strode through the room—an overlap. “I wasn’t on duty. I should have stayed home. But I just… I wanted to know where he was going…” Her head hung. “AJ told me to let him handle it. I should’ve listened,” she laughed mirthlessly. “I thought he was trying to _protect_ me. I didn’t see the signs. I didn’t want to. I didn’t see his words for what they were.” She turned to JC then, smiling grimly. “A warning.”

AJ’s grip tightened around the gun. But Nicky’s gaze never met the barrel.

“I thought he was telling me to stay away from Jessie. But it was never about _him._ AJ was warning me away from himself.”

No, Nicky only had eyes for her brother.

“Why?” the rookie whispered to her brother, cheeks stained with tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you listen to _me,_ Nicky?” AJ probed, hating the apprehension in his own voice.

“I could’ve helped you, Jessie.”

AJ stepped forward. “I told you to leave it alone.”

Nicky stepped towards her brother. “I wanted to—”

“Stop,” AJ commanded sadly. “Just stop, Nicky. It’s over now.”

Jessie shook his head, finally meeting his sister’s gaze. “I’m so sorry, Nicole. I never wanted to hurt anybody—”

“Nicky, I’m gonna need you to get down on your knees. There—next to Jessie.” She didn’t move. AJ sighed. “Just do it, Nicky.” She ground her teeth, slowly shaking her head. “Don’t make this any harder—”

“Don’t pretend this is hard for you, AJ,” she spat. “And don’t you _dare_ pretend you care.” Nicky met his eyes sidelong. “You used Jessie. Used me. After _everything_. And you’ll put bullets in both of us now, if it means saving your own skin.”

The older man scowled, hand shaking slightly.

“Fuck you if you think I’m going to fall to my knees for you.”

“You really want it to end like this?”

Nicky glanced back down at her brother, stony-eyed and heartbroken.

Behind her, Nicole stepped forward. This time, she’d actually get to see what happened.

AJ’s emotions had clouded his judgment, after all. He’d thought so little of Jessie—thought him nothing more than a foolish crony—that he’d taken his eyes off the younger man, giving him the window he needed to leap forward.

He pulled the trigger just as Jessie tackled his legs, sending the bullet far to the right—a graze along Nicole’s shoulder, where it was meant to have hit her in the chest. As Nicky stumbled backwards, clutching her pierced flesh, Nicole felt the phantom pain burning her own. She hissed, glancing at JC, whose eyes had widened in surprise.

He reached for her, placing a steadying hand on her back. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

It wasn’t though.

Nicole shook her head, rushing forward to where AJ had Jessie pinned to the floor, trying to reach for the gun that had been thrown from his grasp. She tried to grab AJ, only to realize a moment too late that she couldn’t actually _touch_ the memory. Her hand passed through him and she cursed, just as AJ lifted up Jessie’s small frame by the shoulders and slammed the back of his head into the concrete.

Behind her, Nicky had come to her senses, scrambling forward and knocking AJ off of her unconscious brother.

“Son of a bitch!” she swore, landing a blow to the man’s left eye. She struck him again, this time in the mouth. “We trusted you!”

For all of her fury, the older cop was still much bigger, stronger than her. Bloodied, he kicked and rolled her onto her back, striking her once across her cheek—deeply—before his hands went to her neck, squeezing.

Nicole felt it all, struggling against her rapidly tightening windpipe. She fell to her knees.

JC was beside her in an instant. “Stay here, Nicole. Stay with it. It’s almost over, isn’t it?”

And it was.

“You—should have—listened to me!” AJ grit out, face almost as red as his partner’s.

She attempted to choke out a protest, but her vision had blurred.

Nicky’s eyes closed just as the gun discharged. The pressure on her throat disappeared when AJ slumped over, clutching his side. The rookie glanced at him once, shocked and panicked, and then over to where her brother kneeled, hands trembling around the officer’s sidearm. Blood dripped from his nose.

AJ moaned in pain, curling around himself. Still somewhat dazed, Nicky shoved him away, kicking him in the abdomen.

Jessie stood shakily, firming his grip on the gun. “You ruined everything!” he cried.

AJ spit blood onto the concrete, managing a laugh.

“Shut up!” Jessie fired again, his poor aim punching a bullet into the floor a few inches to the left of the officer’s head.

“Jessie!” Nicky scrambled to her feet, stealing the gun from her brother’s hand. Still trembling, he let her. When he looked at her, pleading with teary eyes, all she could manage was a hoarse _“Don’t.”_

Nicole stood, too, walking with herself. They stood over AJ’s body together. Blood pooled on the floor beneath him, staining Nicky’s pants when she knelt beside her partner.

Calmly, she rolled him onto his back. His eye swelled where she’d struck him.

In that moment, there was so much she’d wanted to say.

AJ stared up at them coldly, shame present in his gaze, and both versions of Nicole simply said, “You failed.”

_Me,_ Nicole thought. _You failed me. And Jessie. And our fathers. And your wife and your children—_

Nicky struck his temple with the gun, effectively knocking him unconscious. A moment later, she stood. She glanced at the two bodies on the floor. Only one was a trusted friend. And now both were strangers.

And then she met her brother’s gaze.

Before she could speak, Jessie sobbed. He collapsed forward into his sister’s arms, dozens of apologies falling rapidly from his bloodied lips. Aching and spent, Nicky fell to her knees under his weight.

“Stop it, Jessie,” she whispered.

Nicole watched, heart aching mercilessly. The way Jessie held onto her, she could see now, he knew he was gone. He knew that he may never hold his sister again.

It broke her.

“Jessie,” she said louder. _“Stop.”_ That was when she pushed him away.

Nicky held him by his wrists and shook him.

“How could you be so stupid?” she asked, voice pitching. “You’re so stupid, Jessie!”

“This was supposed to be it! I swear, this was the last—”

“Shut up!” she shouted, unable to control herself. “Shut up!” He said nothing more. “Do you understand what has to happen now? Do you?” Jessie’s jaw trembled. “How could you make me do this?”

He knew not to speak, but he tried anyway, “I didn’t—”

“I’m calling the police, Jessie…” Her voice broke.

“I know,” he said, defeated. He fell into her again, clutching the front of her shirt.

Nicole stood over them, shaking. She watched as Nicky’s arms hung limply at her sides. She watched her brother beg for forgiveness.

The officer’s knees buckled, and she fell into herself. Fell into Nicky’s body, merging with the memory.

She held Jessie in return, eyes clenching tightly shut.

This time she could feel him—her brother, corporeal and small. She could feel him trembling against her and she held on tighter.

“I’m sorry, too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry—”

Her apologies were stolen from her by a sudden, lancing intrusion:

_“But you knew.”_

She wrenched open her eyes, heart clenching in panic. The garage was gone, the blood disappeared.

Jessie had vanished.

And in his place was Rebecca, staring up at her daughter with venom.

“You knew, Nicole.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just have to say thanks again to all who have been reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. You guys are awesome! If you ever want to say hi on tumblr, you can follow me @soundreason-truereligion.
> 
> P.S. I know this is getting a little heavy, but I promise I'm getting Nicole home soon ; )


	6. Part Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, buddies. Got a busy weekend ahead, so I thought I'd post this a little early. I hope everyone has a ~*spoopy*~ fun Halloween : )
> 
> Also, heads up. Tw: violence, mentions of blood.

Waverly Earp was no stranger to peculiar dreams.

Having grown up tenuously linked to Purgatory’s demonic underbelly had disavowed her of pleasant dreams very early on in life. And ever since Wynonna had shown up back in town all those months ago, the revenants reemerging with a vengeance, nightmares and stress dreams had become all too common.

But these were nothing compared to the wicked reveries the wyrm had brought her.

Ignoring the aftereffects of her possession had been made easier by her obsession and worry over finding Nicole. Most days were spent with her nose buried in books, trying to dig up answers, or at the very least, helpful distractions. And when her eyes grew too weary to comprehend another line of text, she had Wynonna to distract her in other, less respectable ways. (Say what you want about a bottle of cheap whiskey—and Waverly had never _really_ been a fan—but it was a fine solution in the pursuit of emotional avoidance.)

Yet for all the obsessive control she labored to maintain in her waking life, she had no sway over the visions her mind conjured in slumber. And try as she might, she couldn’t very well evade sleep for more than a day or so.

At first, the dreams were mainly echoes of what she’d experienced during her possession. The images she’d described to Wynonna hadn’t been softened—there was truly very little of those lost days that she had a firm, conscious grasp over. Nothing had been omitted. But what she could recall, with mordant clarity, were the feelings the wyrm had evoked.

Hate, fury, misery—Waverly had been battered by these emotions when the wyrm took control. To have lived most of her life as an optimist, even in the face of dire and bleak circumstance, it was difficult for the youngest Earp to admit she was even capable of feeling these things. Physically painful, as a matter of fact. But the wyrm had taught her that these feelings had not been conjured from without. The demon had seized them from within.

When Waverly dreamt, she dreamt of these black emotions, manifest. She saw the darkness as much as she felt it. And it choked her.

The wyrm still whispered to her, wherever it was. Its physical hold on her had been severed, but some wisp of their connection remained intact. She suspected it would until they found a way to find Nicole and send the damned demon back to hell.

However, in the past few nights, the dreams had taken an odd turn. The darkness of the wyrm—and of herself, she begrudgingly knew—was still felt, still heard. Yet the images of her possession had been replaced with unfamiliar locales.

She had seen, in odd flashes, empty city avenues that she had never before in her life visited. She saw faces unknown, slinking around corners to follow streetlamps only dimly lit. She saw a house abandoned, a cold concrete floor spattered with blood.

And tonight, as she’d reluctantly fallen into sleep on the living room couch after having denied herself rest for the past 36 hours, she saw something equal parts alarming and consoling.

Tonight she saw Nicole.

Not as she had last seen her, strangely. She was in uniform, as she had been on the day of Waverly’s exorcism, but her attire had changed. The colors of the Purgatory Sheriff’s Department had been replaced with different shades of blue; and the patch on her arm, only barely visible, bore an unfamiliar emblem.

Waverly knew something was not right with this scene, but she had little time to dwell on it as she took in the blood dotting Nicole’s collar, matching the crimson streaking her bruised face.

Unable to pull herself from this unconscious tableau, Waverly’s sleepy heart ratcheted in fear.

* * *

The officer recoiled, pulling back from the woman kneeling before her. She was so solid, so real. And Nicole was too startled to remind herself that Rebecca was indeed a figment.

“This isn’t right,” she muttered. “Mom?”

Rebecca’s kind brown eyes turned suddenly furious, accusatory. “How could you let him do this, Nicole?”

“I-I didn’t—”

While Nicole sputtered, Rebecca stood, seeming to tower over her. “You knew what he had fallen into. You knew that he was using, and you _let him_.”

The officer shook her head desperately. “Mom—no. That’s not how—”

“You were supposed to take care of him, Nicky! You _knew_ he couldn’t take care of himself!”

“No, I—” The thought had crossed her mind before—Nicole had spent the last year blaming herself for Jessie’s incarceration, for his addiction. She’d blamed herself for her lapse in judgment, for failing to see AJ for what he’d truly been—a dirty crook. She had lain awake at night with these misgivings, packed them neatly into boxes and dragged them to Purgatory with her.

_She_ had. Nicole had.

Rebecca may have thought these things, too. But she’d never _said_ them.

Nicole stopped, standing slowly. She took a step back. “That’s not what you said,” she whispered.

Rebecca faltered for a split second, unsure of what she was suggesting. “What are you talking about, Nicole? I’m telling you _now—_ ”

“Now! You’re telling me now, Mom—” Nicole gasped slightly, shaking her head. “But—no. You’re not here, and this isn’t…” Stunned, Nicole’s hands coiled into fists. “You’re not my mother.”

* * *

_“Clever,”_ the wyrm whispered. Not aloud, but Waverly could hear its surprise nonetheless.

She was there, in the dream, but for all of her awareness, her panic, she had no control. She longed to reach out to Nicole, to stroke her bruised cheeks and wipe the blood from her face. It made her ache to be _this_ close to her, and to still feel the chasm gaping between them.

Whoever this woman was—Nicole’s mother, it seemed—but not—the wyrm had possessed them, too.

And try as she might to break from its grasp once again, to wake from this dream, it seemed her duty to watch Nicole’s fear unfold.

* * *

She was in the old house. She was standing in the living room where she and Jessie had built pillow forts and held parties and shared their first beers. This was the place where she’d had her first kiss, where she’d thrown a math textbook at her brother’s head during a particularly heated fight. The room where she’d watched her mother, from a furtive perch at the top of the stairs, receive the news that her father would never be returning home.

It was the same room where she’d said goodbye to Rebecca a year ago, the distance yawning between them, rife with unvoiced arguments and staggering guilt.

“My mother,” Nicole spat, “would never have said those things to me.”

A slow smile spread over the illusion’s face. The woman— _thing_ —took a step forward. “But she thought them.”

Nicole shook her head, glancing around the room. It dawned on her, suddenly, that she was alone. “JC?” she called, stepping back. “JC!”

“It’s just you and I, Nicole. As it should be.”

Nicole glanced once over her shoulder. She’d escaped through the back door once already, but should she do it again? _Could_ she? If this was where the wyrm was hiding, it may be the only thing standing between her and a return trip home. Still, she felt patently unprepared for whatever dangers the demon might possess.

Looking back at the thing, however—at the face that it so shamelessly wore—she wasn’t sure that the physical pain it would cause her could be any worse than the hand by which it would be inflicted.

Nicole had to laugh, sorrowful and cold. “I should’ve known,” she mumbled.

The wyrm stepped forward, Rebecca’s eyes swimming with an all-too-familiar obsidian. Its voice dropped into a deep, resonant register as it told her, “You understand I can’t let you return to Purgatory.” Then, mouth quirking into a smile, it gestured broadly about the room. “But it could be worse, couldn’t it? Few are lucky enough to die in the comforts of their own home.”

The wyrm reached out Rebecca’s hand to her, and a dark mist swirled about her fingertips. Instantly, the back of Nicole’s mind began to itch. The mist surrounded her, _spoke_ to her, and though her focus had slipped, she could clearly understand its message:

_Let go._

For a moment, the voice immobilized her. Every muscle in her body clenched at its words. But then another thought occurred to her.

_This is what Waverly felt._

Her revolt roared anew, and she forced herself to take a step forward—a challenge. “I know what you’re doing,” she warned. “It’s the same trick that you tried on my girlfriend.” Another step. “Tried. And _failed.”_

The wyrm’s eyes narrowed, though its smile did not falter.

“You were already weak when you tried to take her.” Though it pained Nicole, still straining against that dreadful mist, she managed a small, mocking smile of her own. She wasn’t stupid—she understood that scorning a demon wasn’t the wisest tactic. But anger was weakness. And the wyrm had already faltered twice. “Couldn’t stand up to a blast from Wynonna Earp’s gun. Couldn’t stand up to Waverly Earp’s stubborn resistance.”

“But you’re not an Earp, Nicole Haught,” the wyrm reminded her. “Then again, neither is your girlfriend.”

“What?” Nicole halted suddenly, confused. The wyrm opened its mouth, smirking. Before it could speak there came a pounding from the front window, a muffled shout.

“Nicole!”

The officer’s eyes widened as she peered over the wyrm’s shoulder. Outside, looking panic-stricken for the first time since she had met him, stood JC. His fists hammered at the glass as he shouted, “Get out of there! You’re not safe!” Nicole’s eyes darted between the angel and the demon, feeling suddenly unsure.

The wyrm laughed. “He’s right about that—you’re _not_ safe.”

JC continued to shout. “He’s barring me! I’m trying—”

The wyrm waved its hand—Rebecca’s hand—and a shade fell over the window. JC’s shouts were drowned in the darkness that descended upon the room. “I can assure you though: there’s no leaving now.”

Nicole had a second then to decide.

She’d run before—not often, but at times when it had counted—and the regret had long weighed heavy on her mind. She had run from the truth about her brother. She had run from her mother, after he’d been taken away. And she’d run from the very memory of it, as she’d been tossed ruthlessly back into this phantom city.

In spite of the demon’s words, she knew she could still run. It might mean her death, but staying could mean it even sooner, even swifter.

Staying could also mean leaving. It could mean returning to Waverly Earp, not unscathed, but whole. Alive.

And so Nicole reached for her gun, charging headlong towards the wyrm.

Its eyes widened for a split second, unused to such physical altercations; but as Nicole collided with it, the air nearly knocked out of her by the unearthly solidity of the demon, the wyrm laughed. Hardened as it was, it stumbled backwards, losing its balance as it fell into the coffee table. Nicole held on tightly, and both tumbled awkwardly to the floor.

Teeth grit, Nicole straddled the demon, blinded for a moment by her adrenaline, her sheer instinct. Furious, she grabbed Rebecca by the shoulders and reached for her sidearm—

_Rebecca._

Logically, Nicole understood that the creature beneath her was not her mother. But she saw her eyes, her smile, felt her sturdiness. She saw the small scar on the underside of Rebecca’s chin, the one she’d earned after slipping on the icy sidewalk in front of their house one wintry morning, and for a critical second, Nicole forgot. She hesitated.

It was only a second, but for the wyrm, it was enough.

The demon lurched forward, headbutting the officer with such force that her vision went immediately fuzzy. She had felt her nose cracking under the pressure. Stymied, she clutched at her face and fell back against the table beside the couch, sending a lamp crashing towards the floor.

The wyrm was on top of her in an instant. Nicole flailed against it, fighting to reach for her gun. “Play nice, sweetheart,” the demon chided, lacquering its voice mockingly in Rebecca’s sweet timbre. It grasped the officer by the wrist just as she managed to grab hold of her pistol, its steely nails piercing her pale skin.

Nicole hissed in pain, gritting her teeth. With her unpinned hand, she wailed the demon in the temple once, twice. The blood began to pool in her gun hand, slicking the handle. She could feel it slipping from her grasp as the wyrm’s fist tightened.

The mist had begun to crawl from its mouth, and it blew into Nicole’s face. Instinctively she clenched her eyes and mouth shut, and struck the wyrm once more in the eye. The demon flinched, but not before the gun had fallen from her hand, clattering to the floor.

Her heart pounded in her ears, almost in time with the pounding that erupted from the front door. Muffled, she could hear JC’s shouts growing louder. What he was saying this time, she could not understand. The blood had rolled from her nose down into her ears. Everything sounded faintly _wet._

Unsure of how to fight off the weight of the demon, Nicole kicked and writhed, struggling to land an effective blow. “I may be weak,” the wyrm finally conceded, “but I will never be as weak as you.” She scrambled for her gun, but the demon easily snatched it from her, striking her in the face in the process.

Nicole coughed, spitting blood. Her head throbbed as the demon—wearing her mother’s face, her mother’s sweet smile—leveled her own gun on her. _I should have run,_ she thought, before her fear was rapidly replaced with denial. _This isn’t happening,_ she told herself then. _It’s a dream._

Nicole could only laugh, panicked, as the wyrm pressed the barrel of the gun beneath her ribs. She struggled still, but reluctant as she was to admit it, her strength could not match the demon’s. It may be weak, but she was weaker.

“This isn’t my life,” she raged, fighting to convince herself. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I don’t live here anymore!”

The demon released her wrist, grabbing her by the throat. Not enough to choke her outright. But enough to promise a breathless end was impending.

“I’m alive!”

“For now,” the demon agreed, almost gently enough that Nicole could have mistaken it for Rebecca’s affection. She winced, shaking off her delusion.

The officer opened her mouth once, to protest. She felt the demon’s hand around her neck. Saw her own mother choking her. And as the hope fled her, her mind instinctively sought comfort.

Her thoughts turned to Waverly Earp.

She had to admit, in her current predicament, it was likely she would not make it home. Which meant that the demon would live, scorned, and might return to finish the woman that had thwarted it previously.

Nicole’s brow furrowed. She knew Wynonna would be there. Dolls and Doc, too. But her heart thumped painfully knowing that she could not protect Waverly herself.

“You’ll use me,” she presumed. “To return to Purgatory.”

“It’s nothing personal,” the wyrm assured her, tightening its grip on her throat.

Nicole paused. Her windpipe was closing slowly. “You can consume me,” she rasped, voice darkening. “But if you take me, I won’t let you hurt them.”

The demon paused, and the hand around her neck stilled. “You’ve a strong will. And I believe—” Nicole felt the gun pressing deeper into her belly. “—you deserve a _swift_ death.”

* * *

_This is my dream,_ Waverly rebelled. She could _sense_ the gun in the wyrm’s hand, could feel her girlfriend struggling beneath her. The demon had control, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t influence it.

Or so she hoped.

She’d watched the demon knock Nicole to the floor and bloody her, terrified and disgusted to be party to its brutalization. She’d choked on her panic, her guilt. Until the fury had overcome her.

The wyrm had tried to take her, to poison her. It had sowed the misery and hatred that had blossomed inside. It had _stolen_ her girlfriend, beaten her, sapped her of hope. And though Waverly could not be certain there was anything she could do to stop it, she would sure as hell try.

For Nicole, she had to.

Just as she had the day she’d been pried from the wyrm’s grasp, she harnessed that darkness inside of her and wrestled, pushing it violently outward. The demon could not hold her, any more than it could hold the stalwart woman beneath her.

Gritting her teeth, she screamed at the demon, “She’s not yours!” She shouted over and over, spearing the sinister tether that had moored her to this dream.

For once, the demon faltered. And a voice, though still muted, pierced through the locked door.

“Hold on!” it shouted, thrashing louder against the entryway.

Beneath her, Nicole’s eyes glinted with the tears she fought to conceal. Her jaw clenched as she spat, “It’ll take more than a bullet to kill me, you son of a bitch.”

Frightened as she was, trapped in the demon’s mind, Waverly looked upon Nicole and smiled. Somewhere, on the periphery of her consciousness, she could feel her own eyes hot with tears. “You’re so strong, Nicole,” she whispered. And she was so proud.

It happened suddenly then.

A flurry of activity—the sense that something within the demon had shifted, or slipped, if only briefly; the front door bursting wide open, a stream of blinding white pouring in, and a gruff looking man striding inside.

And lastly, the wyrm’s lancing panic, its desperation as it pulled the gun’s trigger just a split second before the backlit man sent the demon sailing into the wall with a flick of his hand.

“Enough!” the man bellowed, skin visibly cracking as the light poured outwards. His voice was thunderous, crackling with momentum. Waverly, distantly aware of the demon’s pain, the pins-and-needles energy that rapidly enveloped it, watched as the man knelt beside Nicole, cradling the back of her head.

Her eyes lolled, mouth parting slightly as if to speak. Instead she coughed, face contorted in agony. Waverly ached to call out to her. It was futile, but she still tried. The demon squirmed, revolted by the display, and without sparing it a single glance, the man’s hand shot out, holding the wyrm in place.

He leaned down then, close to Nicole, and whispered in her ear. Soft, soothing words that Waverly could not hear, but could sense. The officer’s eyes closed as she nodded almost imperceptibly, and the man set her gently back on the floor.

Brushing off his pants, he stood, and turned to the demon. “You’ve meddled for far too long, Son of Apophis.” The demon hissed in response as the man stepped confidently forward. The hand that held the demon clenched tighter, and its body seized. Waverly could feel the overwhelming pressure that bore down on it, as if to compress. “How many years did you lie in waiting outside the Triangle’s gates?”

The demon struggled, spitting a weak retort. “Not nearly enough.”

Waverly gasped as a pair of translucent, _clawed_ wings unfurled from the man’s back. He knelt before the demon, his form glaringly luminous, and smiled sadly. “You know I won’t let you return.”

“The girl will die, Arbiter.”

The man placed his hand on the demon’s forehead, his touch molten. The wyrm howled.

Leaning forward, he whispered, “That is not for you to decide.”

His wings enfolded the damned creature, the light so bright that Waverly was forced to close her eyes.

* * *

She woke with a start, the afterimages of the angel’s face burned into her retinas. Drenched in sweat, Waverly gasped and shivered.

Confused, panicked, she called Nicole’s name into the darkness.


	7. Part Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, have I mentioned yet how great my betas are? No? Well, they are. @jaybear1701 and @HaughtBreaker. If you haven't read their fics, you absolutely should. They are awesome.

The day Nicole first arrived in Purgatory, she’d promised herself, _Things will be different from here on out._

She would no longer put her trust blindly in those who had authority over her. She would grant them the benefit of the doubt, sure, but if they gave her a reason for skepticism, she would not ignore her intuition again.

Nor would she allow anybody she cared for to hurt themselves. Even if that meant facing a hard truth, doling out cold ultimatums. Becoming the enemy.

Granted, there wasn’t a soul in Purgatory that cared about Nicole Haught. Here she was a stranger, a nobody. Just a rookie sheriff’s deputy—a stray that had wandered in from the big city.

When she made the decision to leave Chicago, she’d closed her eyes and placed her finger on a map.

Fate certainly had a strange sense of humor.

She’d thought it the night AJ had trained his gun on her.

She’d thought it the day she walked into Shorty’s bar for the first time and shook Waverly Earp’s hand.

She’d thought it as she lay dying on the living room floor of her childhood home, belly on fire, and mind hazy with the soft assurances the angel had whispered in her ear—words that cushioned Nicole’s descent towards her mortal end. Words that brightened every corner of her mind. Words that tickled the backs of her eyelids, and evoked the soft chirrup of crickets, the smell of frostbitten grass—

_Not every death is meant to be an end._

Nicole breathed in, eyes opening of their own accord. Her cheek was damp (with blood, she told herself). The night around her was dark, and the blades of grass stiff and fine beneath her palms.

“Where…?”

Lifting her head, she could make out the shapes of trees, a distant highway lit faintly with the lights of a passing car. Nicole’s brow furrowed.

She knew this place.

Her heart pounded, but for once, it was not out of fear.

It was out of hope.

She pushed up off her belly tentatively, expecting some sort of pain. When none came, she glanced down, taking stock of herself. She was back in her PSD uniform, damp now from the grass she’d been lying on, but otherwise clean, free of blood. Her hand went to her cheek next, and came away blessedly dewy.

Nicole exhaled, smiling slowly in disbelief. She sat back, taking in her surroundings.

She was just inside the gates of the Ghost River Triangle boundary, where they had freed Waverly from the wyrm. Where she herself had been taken.

She had to laugh, shaking her head. _Fate—_ what a comedian.

After a moment she stood, shaky and still vaguely unconvinced that the demon hadn’t shipped her off to some cruel, new dreamscape; but happy to languish here for as long as death would allow it. She searched her pockets for a cellphone she knew had been left in her cruiser, before deciding to hoof it towards the highway. It was several miles back into town but, depending on the time of night, she could likely make it back in before morning. From there, she’d stop home for her car and make the drive straight to the homestead.

Her heart pumped in anticipation. Illusion or not, Waverly Earp would be a welcome sight.

After a few minutes, her head clearing of confusion and driven mostly by instinct—sheer homesickness—she wrapped her arms tightly around herself and ducked her head against the wind. It was a bitter night, and her uniform jacket wasn’t made for such temperatures. She shivered, hand clutching her own belly.

Beneath her thin shirt, she felt a tender knot, just under her ribs, and halted.

Nicole’s eyes widened in shock, unbidden fear. But before she had time to dwell on it, the lights of an approaching vehicle illuminated her back, sending tall shadows stretching across the road ahead. Gravel crunched as the truck slowed, pulling onto the road’s shoulder. The officer glanced to her left, body tensing in fear as the passenger-side window rolled down.

“Need a lift?”

Nicole’s heart nearly stopped, and for a moment she could only stare in amazement, her breath pluming foggily in front of her.

“C’mon, it’s cold,” JC reminded her with a smile, leaning over to push open the door. “Get in.”

* * *

The dream—no— _nightmare—_ had been too real. It was something Waverly probably could have written off had the wyrm’s presence not been so distinct. When pressed to describe it previously, she’d told Wynonna it had felt oily, and she’d meant it. Its breath, its voice, its very essence was something undeniably tangible. When it touched Waverly, there was no mistaking it.

So when she’d seen Nicole, bloody and bruised, pinned beneath the demon; when she’d felt the gun go off in a hand that wasn’t hers, sending a bullet directly into the belly of the woman she loved, she felt helpless to refute it happening.

And while she’d hoped that she could have somehow influenced the outcome, somehow manipulated her connection to the demon, she had been paralyzed by the sight.

She’d watched Nicole die.

Waverly gasped for breath. After she’d initially tumbled from her bed minutes earlier, screaming, Wynonna had stormed into her room. The Earp heir had been down in the living room with Doc at the time, sharing a bottle of whiskey. Nothing had sobered her quicker than the desperation and pain emanating from her little sister.

She held Waverly now, feeling frustrated and powerless. “Breathe, baby girl,” she whispered, running a hand soothingly through the younger woman’s hair. “You’re all right, just—”

“I’m fine,” Waverly choked. “It’s not me, it’s—it’s—” she couldn’t continue her explanation. Instead she buried her face deeper into her sister’s chest, feeling lost.

Feeling as if she were, somehow, entirely too late.

* * *

Nicole stared blankly out the windshield, hands trembling slightly in her lap. She’d been right.

This _was_ a dream.

“This is purgatory, too, isn’t it?” she asked.

“The town, not the liminality.”

Nicole wanted to smack the smile off of JC’s face. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Nicole,” he chuckled, “I go where I please. You should’ve figured that out by now.”

“Well, then—” She started and stopped, hand searching for the knot under her shirt. It felt fresh beneath her fingertips—a puckered, pink scar the size of a bullet. “I _am_ dead this time.”

JC frowned, shaking his head. “You did die—I’ll give you that. But you’re not dead.”

Suddenly agitated, she glared at him and asked, “How the hell am I _here,_ JC? Where are we?”

“I told you,” he explained patiently, “we’re in Purgatory.” Then, before she could contest. “I’m not foolin’, kid. You’re home.”

For a moment, she grew very quiet, contemplative. Her eyes burned with relieved tears, though still, there was a part of her that refused to believe his claims. “How?”

JC grew quiet, too. “Because I like you.”

“Because you _like_ me?”

The angel shrugged, hands resettling on the steering wheel. “You’ve got gusto. And a hell of a lot of it.”

“Gusto? That’s why I’m alive?” she asked, incredulous.

“You charged into a fist fight with a demon about 200 times your age.” He glanced at her, smiling fondly. “To be honest, you impressed me.” Nicole gaped at him for a moment before he turned back to the road, cocking his head slightly. “More than that though… you’ve got a far stronger heart than most humans I’ve encountered. And trust me when I say, I’ve been doing this a _long_ time—there have been many.”

Nicole’s brow furrowed before the implication dawned on her. “Was it you?”

“That brought you back?”

“Yes.”

JC paused. “Yeah, it was.”

Nicole settled back into her seat. A tear did fall, finally, as she struggled for the appropriate words. Eventually, she simply said, “Thank you.”

A pensive look overcame the angel’s face. “Might not want to thank me just yet,” he muttered, just as they passed the “Welcome to Purgatory” sign. Turning suddenly, he asked, “Where to?”

Without thinking she told him, “The Earp homestead. I’ll direct you.”

JC nodded, and for several minutes, they were quiet. Overhead, the sky had started to lighten. Eventually, the man cleared his throat and said, “Look, there’s something you need to understand…” She glanced over at him expectantly and waited. At this, he seemed uncomfortable. “When I said you’d died, I meant it. You were gone. And in the same way I delivered that demon to Hell, I held you where you were.”

“How?”

He chuckled mordantly. “ _That_ you will come to understand in your own time. For now, let’s just say it’s part of the job.” He looked over at her, eyes thoughtful. “You were a special case, Nicole, from the beginning. Purgatory is not a place for the living. As a mortal, you never should have been there. And for one to die _in_ purgatory… it’s practically unheard of.

“So, seeing as yours was sort of an atypical occurrence… unorthodox measures had to be taken to resolve the situation.”

“ _Unorthodox_ in what way?”

JC rubbed the scruff on his chin and glanced at her sidelong. “You deserved to come home, Nicole.”

Suddenly, her palms began to sweat. “JC. What are you telling me?”

“Well, in order to do that… I couldn’t exactly keep you human.”

* * *

 

Wynonna had only just gotten Waverly to calm when there came a knock on the front door. She winced at the sound. Visitors to the homestead were uncommon, if not entirely unwelcome. And a visitor at _this_ ungodly hour of the morning was downright alarming. For all she knew, it was either Dolls or Sheriff Nedley. And neither were stupid enough to risk waking her with good news.

“Can you sit tight, Waves?” she asked, stroking her sister’s hair. She lay curled in bed, staring vacantly at the wall, mouth set in an impassive line. When she failed to respond, Wynonna kissed her gently on the temple and assured her, “I’ll be right back.”

Downstairs, Doc had begun to shuffle, searching for the nearest firearm. Peacemaker was tucked away safely in the heir’s own room, and she quickly retrieved it before padding down the stairs. As she approached the landing, she saw Doc standing at the front window, peeking through the glass.

“Well, I’ll be…” he muttered, pistol slowly dropping to his side.

Wynonna’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

Doc glanced back at her, the surprise evident in his wide eyes. His moustache twitched as his mouth curled into a slow smile. “None other than our missing Sheriff’s Deputy.”

* * *

Nicole’s stomach coiled tightly with nerves as she stood before the closed door. Behind the window’s curtains, she could make out a figure moving in the low light, then another. Heart beginning to pound, she glanced behind her once. JC’s truck had disappeared almost the moment she stepped foot on the Earps’ front porch, just as she had expected.

Not before he’d promised her he would be returning shortly, of course. _“We have more to discuss, and you, much to learn. For now though,”_ he’d conceded, gracing her with a gentle smile, _“A good night’s sleep—or two—are in order.”_

She was absolutely reeling from what little he’d explained to her, from the revelation of what she’d become. He’d still promised her a relatively normal lifetime, physiologically speaking—hence his order for bedrest and a hot meal—but the next lifetime…

Nicole gulped. It was difficult to conceive of things ever feeling _normal_ again.

However, as the front door swung open and a frantic Wynonna Earp launched herself at the officer, she couldn’t help but return to earth for the time being.

Much would change in the coming days. But some things—essential things—she knew would remain the same.

Like the way Wynonna smacked her incredulously on the arm in the very same breath that she’d nearly strangled her to death with a crushing hug. Shock, relief, and agitation flitted over the woman’s face in such rapid succession that Nicole could almost have laughed if she weren’t warring with the urge to burst into tears.

It dawned on her, then—with Doc peeking over Wynonna’s shoulder and chuckling, offering Nicole an apologetic smile—exactly what home had become.

“Haught, you asshole!” Wynonna exclaimed, eyes shining with concern. She grasped the officer tightly by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length, searching for signs of injury. Sufficiently convinced that she was all right, she pulled the woman back into a hug. “Christ, I’m glad to see you.”

“Good to see you, too, Wynonna,” she mumbled, returning the hug. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder, past Doc, in search of the one person she truly _needed_ to see. “Where’s Wave—” she began, before Wynonna pulled back again, brow knitted in worry.

“It’s been a long night,” the older woman cut in, tugging her insistently into the house. As the door closed behind them, she glanced up at the stairs, voice lowering to a whisper.

“What’s going on?” Nicole asked, her anxiety doubling. “Where’s Waverly? Is she—”

“She’s all right,” Wynonna interjected, before amending, “sort of. A little shaken up.”

“Well, what’s—” as Nicole made to move towards the stairs, Wynonna stopped her.

“Hold up, just listen a second.” Nicole obliged. Several different emotions passed over the heir’s face before she sighed and said, “She seems awfully convinced that you’re dead. And she’s not taking it well.”

Nicole was struck with the sudden urge to laugh again before her heart clenched. The irony was unbearable.

“Speaking of,” Doc cut in, “care to explain how you are _not_?” His eyes had narrowed in sheer curiosity. “Not that I am not utterly relieved to see you standing before us, Officer Haught. But there are few who have tussled with a demon and lived to tell the tale.”

“Right,” she quietly agreed, “so you’ll understand when I say—it’s a long story. One I will gladly tell you later over a bottle of whiskey, but for now—”

“Waverly,” Wynonna interjected.

“Yeah,” Nicole pensively agreed. “Why would she think I’m dead?”

“Nightmare,” Wynonna explained. “Had a hard time getting the whole thing out of her—I mean, she totally lost it—but she said she saw you get shot. Or the demon shot you? She wasn’t exactly being clear—” Wynonna stopped as the color drained from Nicole’s face. “What?”

Nicole was quick to shake her head. “It was just a dream,” she hurriedly decided, feeling unsettled.

“Yeah, of course. But it must have seemed so real to her—”

“I know,” Nicole nodded, running a trembling hand through her hair. “I need to see her.” Her tone brooked no argument.

“You should. I think—” Wynonna did not want to admit to failure. As much as she hated it, she was not well-versed in consoling Waverly—had never been. It _hurt_ to see her so torn up, in a way that a stiff drink or a rowdy bar fight couldn’t fix. And while she was equipped to exterminate revenant scum, Wynonna Earp was not equipped to manage her own emotions.

“She needs you, too,” she professed, grateful that not even a damn demon could keep Nicole Haught from her sister. 

* * *

Her breath came to her, but it wasn’t easy. The utter panic she’d spiraled into after waking had consumed her fully. Chewed her up and spit her back out. Waverly felt like little more than a weightless husk now, her energy having fled completely.

She laid atop the bed sheets, shivering lightly from the draft blowing in through the old windows. The sun had only just started to rise, painting the predawn in milky shades of purple and silver. In an hour’s time, the clouds would shake a heavy snow from their masses, blanketing the frosty earth.

Her mind skirted the edges of unconsciousness for several minutes, eyes drifting closed of their own accord. There were muffled voices downstairs, meshing with the gentle whistle of the wind outside, the delicate rhythm of her own inhalations. Wynonna was worried, she knew; but she had no strength to assuage her.

_I just want to be alone now,_ she thought, as she heard the soft footsteps padding up the stairs. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. Wynonna stopped just outside, likely composing herself for a brief moment before the door creaked open. Still, she said nothing. Waverly attempted to cease her shivering, to be as quiet as possible.

Her heart clenched when the bed dipped, a cold, shaky hand rising to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She caught a whiff of something familiar, something out of place. Something like sandalwood and vanilla. Something like—

“Waverly? Are you—”

Her eyes shot open.

“Nicole?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was sort of a dick ending, I KNOW. Cliffie. But I'm hoping I'll post the next part for you a lot sooner to make up for it...


	8. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI there is some nsfw material towards the end.

Waverly held onto her so tightly that she started to lose her breath. She could feel wetness on her neck, the fluttering brush of her girlfriend’s lips as she sobbed in relief. Nicole’s arms shook around her, unable to control the anxious, awkward pump of her own heart. It ricocheted between her ribs like a balloon venting erratically through the air.

Now that she was here, home almost didn’t feel real, and that scared her. She felt as if she were being tricked.

Nicole had died. She’d felt it happen. Yet here she was, back in Waverly Earp’s arms, with little more than a scar to show for her troubles.

_Luck_ wasn’t a strong word to describe what she’d been graced with. She was reminded once again of fate’s peculiar sense of humor and decided, finally, it must have worked in her favor.

It was a little hard to think right now, however. Nicole buried her face in Waverly’s hair, inhaling steadily in an attempt to calm her heart rate. She had started trembling, and couldn’t tell whether it was from the cold or her own shock. In either case, she couldn’t seem to get close enough to the woman in her arms.

“I thought,” Waverly began, voice raw. Her lower lip quivered just once as she pulled back, cupping Nicole’s cheeks in her hands. “I thought that—” Her eyes darted rapidly over the officer’s body, searching for the bruises she had seen in her dreams. “You’re shaking.”

“I-I’m cold,” Nicole answered.

Waverly eased her down onto the mattress, tossing the quilt over them both. “Come here, baby,” she whispered, pulling Nicole into her arms.

It wasn’t just the cold that was bothering her. Physically, she felt exhausted. But there were so many uncertainties crowding in around the edges of her consciousness—the weight of everything that had happened, to both of them. Nicole had felt the wyrm’s presence firsthand, and she still worried over what havoc it had caused Waverly. But the thought of talking about it…

Growing up, Nicole had never been one to discuss her problems with her mother or Jessie. Rebecca had plenty to worry over as a single parent, struggling to pay bills, attempting to keep her children afloat and under control in a neighborhood where rules did not seem to apply. Jessie caused her enough trouble. Nicole had no desire to add to it.

It had become habit to simply let things go, or otherwise bottle them up for a later time—a time when she’d feel better equipped to mitigate her problems. But there was simply _so much_ inside of her now, between them. She threaded her fingers through Waverly’s hair, biting back a shiver, and stared into her eyes. Her brow furrowed. She didn’t want secrets, but she was so tired—

“Nicole,” she entreated the officer softly, her voice serious and concerned. “Are you all right?”

It wasn’t a casual _Is something bothering you?_ It was a _Where have you been?_ A _What did that demon do to you?_

It wasn’t a yes or no question. “I’m really glad to be home,” she said instead. She wanted to sound stronger, firmer, but her voice was so small. There were tears in her eyes.

Waverly swallowed. “Me, too.” She pulled Nicole closer, kissing her brow, her nose, her cheek.

“Waves,” Nicole began, tentative. “It was—I don’t—”

“Hey, hey,” she soothed. “It’s okay.” Nicole could see then, the darkness in her own eyes had been answered by Waverly’s fear, her exhaustion. “I want to know what happened. I want you to know what happened to _me._ But you’re _here,_ now, and I just want—” Her voice cracked again, and she bit her lip. In a whisper, she finished, “I just want to be with you for a while.”

“Okay,” Nicole nodded. For many moments, they lay in silence. The officer’s gaze darted about the room, seeking out the shadows skirting her periphery. Every article of clothing slung over a chair back, every lamp, every piece of furniture tricked her heart into skipping. She waited for them to change shape, for the demon to return. But then her eyes would meet Waverly’s, and she would calm.

Waverly, on the other hand, could not stop watching her. The images from her dream were burned into her mind. The moment she would look away, she could see Nicole bloodied, face twisted in agony. A tremor rippled through her.

“Are _you_ okay?” Nicole asked, brow furrowing.

Waverly’s lips parted slightly. “I dreamt about you,” she whispered.

Nicole nodded. “Wynonna told me.” She could have said _It was only a dream,_ but she wasn’t sure.

The smaller woman hesitated then. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

Feigning bravado, Nicole smiled. “You should have known better,” she teased. When Waverly did not respond, eyes troubled, she brushed her knuckles against her jaw, directing her gaze. “I didn’t think I would see you either,” Nicole admitted. “But I suppose there’s a lot of things I never thought would happen, or were possible, until I knew you.”

Waverly smiled faintly. “That’s not entirely a good thing.”

Nicole shook her head. “I don’t care. It doesn’t need to _all_ be good.” Waverly seemed unconvinced. The officer leaned forward, bridging the hair’s breadth of space between them, and pressed her lips to Waverly’s. It was languid, reaffirming. Soft, but growing firmer. She pulled away after a moment and said, “I just wanted to come home to you. I almost can’t believe I’m here. But I am, and it’s the safest I’ve felt since Wynonna first told me that thing had taken you.”

Realizing how true those words were, she pressed forward again, more urgently. The warmth of Waverly’s mouth on hers; the body heat they traded through layers of clothing; hands kneading cheeks, necks, hair—it was grounding. It compressed that dreamlike, far-away quality of her present into pinprick worries, minor nuisances she could push to the back of her mind. Her hand slid down beneath Waverly’s shirt, gripping her waist tightly. When she whimpered, Nicole’s pulse seemed to thunder, heart steadying between her ribs in spite of its insatiable, steady hum.

Their breath caught momentarily, and Nicole’s entire body was suffused with heat. It was as if the certainty of the moment finally clicked. _You_ are _here,_ it reminded her. _You are here, and nothing can take you away._

Sensing her sudden desperation, Waverly rolled on top of her, panting. Their kisses grew a little sloppy, a little frantic, teeth clashing and nipping at each other’s lips. Nicole’s hands moved to grip her back. When she scratched gently, Waverly sat up, astride her.

“Shit,” she breathed, grounding her hips instinctively against the officer’s. She sought her lips, “Nicole.”

The heat between them was overwhelming. Nicole’s flesh pimpled with goosebumps when Waverly removed her tee shirt, tossing it haphazardly to the floor.

“Waves,” Nicole groaned when she bent down to nip at her neck, fingers fumbling with the buttons of her uniform shirt. After a few moments, unwilling to pull her lips from the officer’s flesh, she began tugging her shirt upwards in frustration—

Nicole halted as the memory hit her.

The bullet punching through her belly. The words the angel had whispered in her ear. The puckered scar just beneath her ribs.

She gripped Waverly’s wrists tightly, eyes wide and frightened. It wasn’t so much the remembering that scared her, but Wynonna’s words: _she saw you get shot._

“What? What’s wrong?” Alarm took hold of Waverly instantly. Her hands froze, bunched in Nicole’s shirt. “This was too fast,” she surmised, trying to pull back. “I’m sorry—”

“Waverly,” Nicole held her. She attempted to steady her breath, her voice. She didn’t feel ready, didn’t know how to tell her. But the panic had already set in, and she didn’t want to lie either. Gently, she lowered Waverly’s hands to her stomach, the grip on her wrists loosening. “It’s okay,” she tried to assure her. “But I need to… you need to see something.”

Nicole sat up slightly, leaning back against the headboard. Holding Waverly’s hands in hers she started, then stopped, finally settling on, “Was… was the wyrm in your dream? The dream you had about me.”

Waverly’s brow furrowed. She couldn’t understand her line of questioning. Not now—not with what had almost happened. “Yeah…” Nicole swallowed visibly. Waverly looked away. “I had dreams about it, or… I was still connected to it in some way, I think.”

Her voice had grown quiet, almost ashamed. Nicole cupped her cheek, directing her gaze back to hers. “It didn’t want to let either of us go. I know that.”

Waverly chewed on her lip anxiously. “The wyrm had you,” she whispered. “It was pretending to be someone else.” She hesitated. “Your mom.”

Nicole deflated. “Waverly… oh god.” She felt the tears forming in her eyes again. “You were…”

Waverly stared at her in terror, her own eyes wet. “What? Please, tell me.”

But she already knew. She was too astute.

And Nicole _couldn’t_ tell her. The words would not come. Instead she unbuttoned the bottom of her shirt, pushing aside the fabric to reveal the scar on her abdomen.

Waverly tried to stifle her gasp by covering her mouth. Failing, she leapt from the bed, crossing the room to put as much distance between them as possible. Her back turned on Nicole.

“No—Waverly—” She stood, too, unsure of how to read her reaction. She only knew that she needed her close. The wind whistled outside, sending another sharp draft through the room. Nicole shivered as it hit her exposed stomach, the tissue beneath her scar seeming to tighten. “It’s okay,” she tried, reaching for Waverly’s shoulder.

Immediately the woman shook away from her, wheeling on Nicole. Her eyes glimmered with anger, guilt—sheer panic. Nicole halted.

“It’s not okay! Jesus Christ, Nicole—” She threaded her hands through her hair, covering her mouth quickly with her wrist as she sobbed, “It’s my fault.”

Nicole’s mind roared in protest, but still she could not move. She could only watch Waverly as she stood there crying, eyes wide in shock. Her guilt should not have surprised her. _It’s my fault._ She should have expected those words.

What she could not have expected was how _unjust_ it felt—the absolute indignation that spurred her forward.

“You listen to me, Waverly.” She cupped her cheeks. The smaller woman tried to look away, at anything but her, but she wouldn’t allow it. “This _was not_ your fault. _None of it._ There has been a lot of bad in your life—in this world—but you did not choose it. You did not choose this curse. You did not choose this town. You did not choose these circumstances. But you chose _me._ And I choose you.”

Waverly bit her lip, staring up at Nicole with a furrowed brow. Shakily, she inhaled.

“There will be more demons. Maybe more than we can count. And they’ll try and hurt _both_ of us. Maybe…” Nicole clenched her jaw. “Maybe some of them will succeed. But I’ll _still_ choose you.”

Waverly wanted to believe her. She did, in fact, but that didn’t make it right. She shook her head, whispering, “You don’t need this. You weren’t born into this.”

Nicole chuckled, brokenly. “What I was born into—it wasn’t perfect. Trust me. I’ve seen a lot of things that keep me up at night, Waverly, and very few of them are revenants.”

Waverly frowned, clenching her eyes tightly shut. She dropped her head and asked, “Why would you choose _this_?”

Nicole paused. There was a simple answer to that question. But she needed Waverly to understand. “I left Chicago because something very bad happened. Something that I’ve regretted for a long time. It almost ruined my family. I never told you about it… I never told anybody that wasn’t there. Because I wanted to pretend it never happened.” Waverly watched her, curious and concerned. Nicole wanted to look away, but she held her gaze.

“I think the wyrm took me because I was… vulnerable. Because I had that remorse. And it had nothing to do with you, Wave. That was shit that happened before I ever met you. And if I had stayed, if I’d never come to Purgatory… I don’t know what would’ve happened, but I wouldn’t be okay.”

“There would be no demons,” Waverly tried to argue.

Nicole shook her head, smiling sadly. “There would be. There’d be plenty. And I’d be hated by people I grew up with. I’d be getting shot at by kids with guns, by drug addicts.” She paused. A tear rolled down her cheek, and Waverly wiped it away with her thumb. “The only thing there wouldn’t be… is you. The only person that makes all of that okay. Not just tolerable,” she amended, voice firm. “But really, _really_ okay.”

They were both crying now, quietly. The sun had risen, piercing the snowy-hued cloud cover to bathe Waverly’s bedroom in a delicate white light. The smaller woman held tightly to the officer’s shoulders, one hand reaching up to grasp the back of her neck.

“You helped me fight my demons, Waverly. You’ve been helping me every moment since I met you—since you loved me,” she smiled slightly. “Please—all I want—is to help you fight yours.”

Waverly did not hesitate. Outside, the first snowflakes had begun to fall. And inside, the whistling wind drowned in the calm of Nicole’s presence, her words, her warmth.

In her short life, Waverly had grown used to the transience of love. Her father had cared for her temperamentally. Her mother had been affectionate in brief, flowery bursts—that she could remember—but had ultimately left and never returned, never even contacted her. Willa had been callous, and little else.

Wynonna… had been Wynonna. She had loved Waverly fiercely, in her own afflicted, self-doubting way. She had been there for her when she felt herself well and good enough, which was rarely. She had come and gone, had seemed temporary and precious for many years. Even now, Waverly felt tied to her, cared for, but worried that their time together was ticking away.

Nicole was the only person she had ever known who had loved her with a sense of permanence. It was scary, perhaps even foolish to think—they’d only known each other for a matter of months, and had been together for far shorter a time. But Nicole herself was steadfast and decisive. She would not settle on something she did not see as an enduring fixture in her life. Of this, Waverly was certain.

And so to hear that Nicole had _chosen_ her, that the decision had already been made, Waverly could feel, as much as she could see in the officer’s eyes, that their future had solidified. For Nicole, it was not a possibility. It was something to count on, to look forward to. Something to work toward. Something to invalidate the dangers of their entanglement.

As long as Waverly would have her, of course.

The press of her lips against Nicole’s was tentative, to start, as if it were something new. The officer’s voice had been quiet and strong, her admission tender. They were defenseless, standing in the center of the room, the shadows batted away by the gauzy daylight hailing, all snowy-white, from the windows. Denuded by the sincerity of the moment.

Waverly’s breath shook. “I want you to stay,” she admitted, puffing gentle, quick breaths between Nicole’s lips. It was something she needed, in spite of the darkness of their circumstance, in spite of the injury. Her hands sought the goosepimpled flesh of the other woman’s abdomen, bare through her open shirt. She kissed her again, more certainly. “I want you here—I do.”

“I want to be here,” Nicole assured her, pulling Waverly closer. She could feel fingertips brushing her new scar, and shivered, eyes closing. She had expected to recoil, but the touch only served to soothe her. Nicole breathed a little harder. _“I want you.”_

Their timidity dissipated. It was impossible to focus on what may have changed as they sank into the familiarity of their embrace. Nicole’s arms tightened around Waverly’s back, one hand threading through her hair as their kiss deepened. Waverly’s thumb brushed along the woman’s scar one final time before raking her nails along Nicole’s ribs, up her back. Her skin was hot, in spite of the goosebumps. They both shivered, in tandem.

Waverly pressed in closer, her own bare skin flaming where it touched Nicole’s. With firm, gentle purpose, she guided her backwards, closer to the bed. Nicole’s lips descended upon her jaw, nipping down her neck. Waverly gasped delicately as teeth met skin, the delicate bite immediately soothed by the tip of a tongue. She pushed the uniform shirt from Nicole’s shoulder, kissing the lightly freckled flesh there, opening her neck to further teasing.

Their world narrowed to a single point—the desperation of the morning condensing into a burning, feather-light kiss on a collarbone; the warm wet of a tongue, breathy want upon an earlobe; and then Nicole—shirt divested—falling back against the mattress, guiding Waverly down on top of her by the wrist.

Almost instantly, Waverly began peppering warm kisses along Nicole’s chest, the tops of her breasts; her stomach next. She lingered at the fresh scar beneath her ribs. Hands splayed over Nicole’s hips, she held her firmly and promised, “I won’t let this happen again.”

In the back of her mind, Nicole knew that may be out of their control. But the conviction in Waverly’s eyes moored her to the moment—to safety. “Neither will I.”

Waverly pressed one last kiss to the scar before Nicole pulled her back to her lips. “Too many clothes,” she muttered, palming Nicole’s breast through her bra.

“You’re right,” the redhead panted, reaching behind Waverly’s back to pop the clasp. As the garment was tossed eagerly to the floor, Nicole had to lay back and admire the woman astride her. She’d been granted too few opportunities to do so, since they’d been together. Too many interruptions, too little time. “Sometimes when I look at you,” she admitted, meeting Waverly’s eyes as she reached up to cup her breasts, “I forget how to breathe.”

Waverly’s smile, her almost-shy chuckle, was swallowed in a breathy moan as Nicole’s thumbs brushed over her nipples. A moment later she was sitting up to take one into her mouth, arm around Waverly’s back to brace her.

Waverly laced her hands through Nicole’s hair, eyes closing as she lost herself in the attention. When she allowed herself to look down, however, as Nicole moved to the other breast, she was struck with the desperate need to feel her girlfriend, too. Almost clumsily, she reached down, struggling with her bra clasp for an agonizing moment before pinching it open.

“Let me touch you.”

Nicole couldn’t deny her if she tried. She fell back on the bed, almost unable to gasp as Waverly’s mouth wrapped hotly around her nipple, the other rolled between her fingers. It took her a moment to find a rhythm, but as she did, Nicole threw an arm over her eyes and groaned. “Fuck, Waves.”

After the unrelenting barrage of fear and misery she’d been assaulted with in the last few days—or weeks, possibly—pleasure and joy were an overwhelming balm. She was a little embarrassed to feel tears pricking at the backs of her eyes when Waverly’s hand descended lower, brushing over her abdomen. The muscles in her stomach twitched, and she could feel Waverly smiling as she lavished her nipple.

When Waverly began to remove her pants, however, she came to her senses, opening her eyes and reaching for the brunette’s leggings. “You, too,” she urgently entreated.

“Okay,” Waverly agreed, swiftly removing her own leggings and underwear as soon as Nicole’s had been tossed aside. The redhead pulled her down on the mattress beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “What do you want?” Waverly asked, stroking her thumb along the joinder of Nicole’s hip and thigh.

Leaning forward to kiss her firmly, slowly, her own hand dragged down Waverly’s body, settling below her navel. “I want us to come together,” she breathed.

Waverly could only nod, gasping as Nicole’s fingers grazed her clit. She eagerly matched the movement, trading soft moans and sighs back and forth, swiftly picking up pace. One part of Nicole wanted to take things slow, while the other part simply felt so frantic, so impatient. She watched Waverly’s eyes—her dilating pupils, the flutter of her eyelashes. Her hand began to shake from her own mounting pleasure.

Looking down, she could see Waverly’s wetness clinging to her thigh, and something in her broke. She rolled on top of the brunette, slipping two fingers easily inside of her. Waverly was unable to bite back the moan that tore through her, mouth gaping open. She sought Nicole’s entrance next, savoring the whimper it elicited.

It was hard to remain in sync. The pressure seemed to build so soon, flushing Nicole’s skin, causing her limbs to tremble. They pumped steadily in concert, swallowing each other’s sighs, their whispered pleas.

“Are you c-close?” Nicole asked, uncertain she could hold off her orgasm much longer. Waverly nodded, moaning when Nicole’s fingers curled just right.

Waverly tumbled over the edge first, Nicole following only seconds later. She buried her face in the crook of the brunette’s neck as she came, eyes squeezing shut. She couldn’t stop the tears from escaping as she collapsed on top of her girlfriend.

For many moments they lay in silence, content to remain inside of each other. Waverly fisted Nicole’s hair lightly, kissing her head. She breathed her in and willed her heart to slow. “You’re all right,” she whispered, feeling the wetness against her neck.

Nicole nodded, turning her head slightly so she could speak. “I am. It was just…”

“What?”

Nicole held her tightly around the middle, pulling her closer. “Good to feel safe again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so, I know that was a mean cliffie at the end of chapter seven. But I hope my timely follow-up makes up for it? Maybe? Perhaps?


	9. Part Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to get this posted sooner but, hey, it's been a weird week. i'm sure many of you can relate. 
> 
> anyhow, thanks again for reading, and for all the nice comments. y'all are rockstars.

Nicole couldn’t sleep.

It should have come easily to her, as exhausted as she was both mentally physically. The events of the past _six_ days trapped in the wyrm’s dreamscape—a number that had bewildered the officer when Waverly informed her—had drained her emotional reserves. She felt breakable and frail, like the thin sheets of ice now coating the bedroom windowsills. Not to mention, death itself had taken a tremendous toll on her—something she shuddered to think of.

They’d talked for hours after making love, wrapped in each other’s arms, bathed in the low light that streamed into the room. The heavy snow had cast a silvery pall over the homestead. Tucked into her side, Waverly’s skin seemed to glow dully in its shroud.

Nicole hadn’t been shy in recounting the events that had brought her to Purgatory. She’d spoken a little of her childhood previously, though she’d been careful to omit details that might dredge up unwanted memories. Waverly had heard about her brave, officer father, the man who had inspired Nicole to join the force. She’d heard of her steadfast, dedicated mother; as well as the hordes of cousins she’d grown up with.

She’d even talked about Jessie, up to a certain point. The polarity of their adult circumstance was another unbearable irony she was almost ashamed to confess: Nicole, a servant of the law, fighting tooth and nail to keep criminals off the the streets; and he, a convict, carrying out his sentence in the Cook County Jail. She felt guilty, explaining what kind of man her brother had become. In her own mind, that criminal character had been divorced from the frustrating yet protective boy she’d looked up to in her childhood.

It took a fair amount of fumbling, of redemptive backtracking to get through the entire story. But Waverly was endlessly patient, watching Nicole carefully as she spoke. Never interrupting, stroking her cheek or hair when necessary.

“He’s not… he’s not a bad person,” Nicole blurted at one point, as if the thought had only just occurred to her. In truth, she had remembered this in the wyrm’s purgatory. When she embraced her brother, just before the demon’s intervention, she could feel the goodness in him, still. It felt tangible.

Waverly only paused and carefully, thoughtfully answered. “I wouldn’t think that.”

“You wouldn’t?”

Waverly shook her head. “It sounds like you guys didn’t grow up with many advantages. And maybe Jessie just wanted to help. But addiction… it makes things hard. It confuses intentions, you know?” Waverly looked away then, towards the closed door. “Before Wynonna came back to Purgatory, I worried about her. She’d go through phases, but usually the drinking got out of hand. I still worry about it. If she didn’t have the revenants to focus on, or any sort of purpose…” She allowed the thought to trail off.

Nicole grabbed her hand. “They might have a thing or two in common,” she supposed. Then, smiling wistfully. “Hell, I actually think they could’ve gotten along. Jessie… he used to be a lot of fun, even when he was being as ass.”

Nicole had exercised an equal amount of patience then, asking about Waverly’s experience with the wyrm. It was logical to surmise the demon had maintained some connection with her, even after it had been purged. At full power, the wyrm had to have been incredibly powerful. She still worried about what damage it may have caused, even with Waverly’s soft assurances there to calm her.

“I might dream about it still,” she admitted, quickly adding, “Not _with it_ , I mean. It’s gone now. Right? I could feel it, when that—man? I’m not sure what he was—”

“An angel,” Nicole told her, throat tightening for a moment. Is that what she was now? She still wasn’t entirely sure. But she had died. She knew she wasn’t mortal.

She also wasn’t sure how she would tell Waverly. Now didn’t seem the time. Or, perhaps it was—but she didn’t feel entirely ready. It was bad enough that Waverly had seen her get shot—twice now, as a matter of a fact. It was almost too much to accept that one of those blows had been fatal. She knew that working through that fact, even with Waverly’s support, would be overwhelming.

“You’re serious?”

It took a moment for Nicole to register the question. Waverly’s brow had pinched by the time she nodded. “Yeah, he… he had a name. JC. It was his job to help people like me—” _You were a special case, Nicole._ “—Or, maybe not like me exactly. But to usher people through to the right place. To keep the demons out.”

“No way…” There was a look of wonder on Waverly’s face, the old academic intrigue that never failed to warm Nicole. “So, he was assigned to you or something?”

“Uhm, I’m not sure. Probably not,” Nicole shook her head. “More like he was assigned to the wyrm.”

“That’s sort of fascinating,” Waverly marveled. Then, turning back to Nicole, her cheeks reddened. “I mean—gosh, I’m sorry. Fascinating isn’t the right word. Not after—”

“No,” Nicole chuckled. “It is _crazy._ Or at least, it’s another piece to the puzzle, right? It can’t all be revenants and ancient evils.” Her smile softened. “There’s good stuff out there, too.”

Waverly leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Yeah,” she agreed.

It had been reassuring for both of them, in different ways. Waverly would have nightmares, still. Memories to parse through. There was a part of her, the more quizzical part, that felt convinced there was more to the wyrm’s suggestions than sheer hunger, or sadism.

Bobo’s words echoed through her mind, the pain of them eased some by Wynonna’s confidence and love; but Waverly still had to wonder if the blood that ran through her veins didn’t somehow enable the wyrm, or invite it in.

Not that she was ready to voice these concerns just yet. She, too, could have a secret. And she, too, would reveal it when she felt ready. When she felt stronger.

But already, there was a foot of snow outside. And inside these four walls, bundled beneath a veritable cocoon of quilts and pillows, Waverly was warm and comfortable for the first time in weeks. Nicole was solid.

Their worries were not.

Safe in that knowledge, Waverly was lulled gently to sleep. At some point, talking had turned into soft touches, kisses. Their ministrations had grown heated. Less frantic than before, but no less intense in their need and relief. And their midafternoon lovemaking had robbed Waverly of her last bit of energy.

She’d fallen almost instantly asleep, curled tightly about Nicole’s midsection with a light sheen of sweat still cooling on both their bodies. The officer had drifted moments after her, but just as she began to plummet fully into unconsciousness, her body would jerk back from the brink, feeling as if it were falling.

It happened a few times before the aggravation overcame her and she reluctantly extricated herself from the bed. She was hesitant to leave Waverly, but the longer she lay there, unable to sleep, the more anxieties seemed to assault her. She had been all too glad to part from JC when he’d dropped her at the homestead earlier, but she was starting to regret not having asked him more questions. He’d promised to return soon, of course, but she had no idea when that would be.

Sighing gently, she dressed herself—most of Waverly’s clothes were too short or small on her, but she’d found the woman had at least one hoodie and a pair of sweatpants in her dresser that were big enough to wear. After checking one last time to ensure her girlfriend was fast asleep, she padded quietly from the room. If she couldn’t sleep, she could at least eat. A bit of hot food would be more than welcome.

When she reached the living room, she couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight that greeted her.

It wasn’t Doc, sat in the old recliner, throwing a card down on the coffee table with an overly concentrated look on his face and declaring, “Go fish.” Nor was it Wynonna staring grumpily at her own cards, sipping from a tumbler of whiskey.

It was the fat tabby that lay curled up on her belly, fast asleep.

“Calamity,” Nicole announced, three heads popping up at the sound of her voice. The cat, for her part, meowed incessantly at her owner, but refused to move from her comfy perch on the Earp heir’s stomach. “Wow,” Nicole laughed. “What a little turncoat.”

Wynonna, with unusual consideration, lay still so as not to disturb the tabby, but smiled widely, almost mischievously at Nicole. Doc respectfully tipped his hat, gesturing towards the bottle of whiskey and pool of cards sitting on the table.

“Officer Haught—I’m glad to see you are awake. Feel free to join us.”

“Thanks.” Neglecting to mention that she had never actually slept, she patted her belly. “My stomach wouldn’t let me sleep any longer. Been a while since I ate.”

“Oh,” Wynonna drawled, smirking at her cards. Her eyebrows waggled suggestively. “You must be famished.”

Nicole rolled her eyes, but not before her traitorous cheeks reddened. “Yeah, getting kidnapped by a demon really works up an appetite.”

“That wasn’t what I was—”

“I know what you were getting at,” Nicole said dryly, sneaking behind the couch to scoop up an unsuspecting Calamity from Wynonna’s lap. The cat meowed in agitation, but curled back into Nicole’s arms as she scratched her belly. “How long have you guys had Calamity for?”

“Most of the week.”

“She’s taken quite the shine to Wynonna,” Doc commented with a smirk, idly drawing a card. He then glanced sidelong at the cat, eyes narrowed. “Unlike me, who she seems to have deemed something of a nemesis.”

Nicole chuckled. “She’s a little weird with guys.”

“And by _weird,_ I suppose you mean _murderous._ ”

Shrugging, Nicole could only apologize. “You can take the cat out of the alley…” When the tabby began wiggling impatiently in her arms, she frowned. “What? Are you too good for me now, kitty?” After a paltry struggle, she set Calamity back on the couch. “Fine. Hang with your new bestie instead.”

Wynonna watched the officer head into the kitchen, going immediately for the fridge. After a moment, she set her cards down, grabbed her tumbler and the bottle of whiskey, and followed her. “Let’s pause this for a minute, Doc.”

“All right,” he acceded, setting his cards down, as well. However, when Calamity sent him a withering look, he froze. “You can find me outside, and safely away from _her,_ whenever you are finished.” (Of course, the moment the man set foot on the front porch, Calamity, smug as any feline could be, trudged satisfied into the kitchen to join her owner.)

“So, what’s off limits in here?” Nicole asked, peering hungrily into the fridge. With food finally in sight, her appetite returned with a vengeance.

“The leftover pizza and wings are mine,” Wynonna told her, grabbing a second glass from the cabinet and filling it with a healthy pour of whiskey. “I’d be willing to part with the carton of lo mein. Here—” The older woman tapped Nicole’s shoulder, offering her the glass.

“Thanks.”

“Everything else in there is Waverly’s. Have at it.”

Ultimately, Nicole settled on a tupperware container full of stew—Gus’ recipe, but one Waverly had perfected. As she waited for it to reheat over the stove, she leaned back against the kitchen counter and sipped her drink quietly. Wynonna seemed mostly content to do the same, relieving Nicole of any of the pressure to explain herself, or what had happened. The heir was good at that, she’d noticed. _Not_ -talking was a specialty of hers.

Eventually, Wynonna downed her glass. After refilling it, she hesitated, glancing over at Nicole. With utter seriousness, she said, “Welcome to the club, Haught,” and took a long pull.

Nicole’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Which club would that be?”

“The _I-fuck-with-demons_ club.”

“Ah.” Nicole took another sip. The liquor warmed her. “That one.”

“It’s a real mess, isn’t it?” Wynonna was smiling in a way only she could—one part flippant, one part discomfited—like there was some grand, ironic joke at play, one only she was in on.

Nicole could understand that smile a bit better after what she’d just been through. She met it with her own. “I don’t know. It’s not quite as bad as they always made it seem on TV.”

Wynonna snorted. “You’re an optimist, officer.” Before Nicole could snipe back, she added. “I’m glad you’re on our team.”

Nicole glanced down, blushing slightly. The sincerity in Wynonna’s tone caught her off guard. She hadn’t realized she’d feel so… touched by it. Looking back up, she thought of what she’d told Waverly earlier, about Jessie. About the things he and Wynonna might have in common. She’d said it somewhat offhandedly, but it hit her now how true it was.

Jessie had gotten into dealing because he wanted to help, in his own way. After a lay-off, an unexpected hospitalization and subsequent surgery, their mother had been inundated with debt. Overwhelmed by it. Nicole remained living with her up until she left for Purgatory, to ensure she was taken care of. Her brother had wanted to do the same, but after his own string of lost jobs, he hadn’t known how.

AJ had understood that unfortunate reality. He’d manipulated it, expertly. And in truth, it probably hadn’t even been hard. The Haughts trusted him.

The guilt of it all, the fear and shame of his own self-perceived inadequacy—it was likely what had driven Jessie to addiction. The convenience of it, too. He’d known no other way of coping. Where they’d lived, there hadn’t been many alternative examples to follow.

Out of context, how different was that from Wynonna? From her mistakes, her shortcomings? Her coping mechanisms?

For a moment, Nicole allowed herself to imagine the kind of conversation the two might have over a few glasses—or an entire bottle—of whiskey. She felt an immediate pang of hurt, of regret for the way things had turned out; followed by a sense of appreciation that, even if she could not quite have her brother, she could at least have someone willing to share his same brand of gruff tenderness.

“What’s with your face?”

“Huh?” Nicole asked, stirred from her thoughts.

“You’re looking at me weird.”

Nicole shrugged. “You just… remind me of somebody. Sometimes.”

“Yeah? Who?” Wynonna smirked.

“My brother, actually.”

“I didn’t even know you had a brother.”

“I don’t talk to him much. Or talk about him.”

“Oh.” Wynonna seemed to understand this. There had been a time when she, too, had been the sibling that was rarely talked to or about. “You must like him though, if _I_ remind you of him.”

Nicole laughed, turning down the burner to a simmer. Her mouth was starting to water. “We’ve had our disagreements,” she admitted, purposefully vague. “But I’ve only got the one, you know. I _do_ love him.”

“Well, I hope that doesn’t mean you intend to get all sentimental with me.”

“Hell no,” Nicole assured her, smirking. “I much prefer the drinking and irreverent jokes.”

“Thank god,” Wynonna sighed, clapping the officer on the shoulder. “It’s more than sappy enough watching you with my sister.”

“Sorry, not sorry.”

“Are you talking about me?” Both women startled as Waverly appeared in the doorway. She didn’t hesitate to walk over to Nicole and press a soft kiss to her cheek. “Hey.”

“I thought you’d be asleep,” Nicole told her, a little quieter.

“I woke up. And you weren’t there.” Waverly placed a hand on the officer’s cheek.

Standing by the sink, Wynonna downed the rest of her whiskey and stared pointedly out the window. “See, this is what I was talking about,” she muttered. She could see Doc trudging through the snow behind the barn, gathering another armful of firewood.

“I’m sorry,” Nicole began, ignoring the heir completely.

“No, it’s all right,” Waverly assured her, nodding towards the pot cooling on the stove. “I see you were hungry.”

“Starving, actually. There’s plenty, if you want some.”

“Please.”

“ _Famished,_ I said,” Wynonna mumbled again, refilling her glass. Admittedly, it was a relief to see the two together like this. Aside from that day in the sheriff’s office, when Nicole had been shot, she hadn’t been witness to her sister and Nicole, _together._ Though she pretended not to, Wynonna watched them carefully, from the corner of her eye. They were gentle with each other, perhaps a little clingy, but she supposed it was to be expected. It wasn’t the brand of affection she was partial to, but it seemed to suit Waverly wholly. She could appreciate that.

“Shut it, Wynonna.” Waverly did not even glance at her as she began filling bowls for herself and Nicole, though she did blush slightly.

“You’ll have to give her a break,” Nicole began, eyes glinting. She took her bowl from Waverly with a kiss on the forehead and sat at the table. “She might be a little grumpy since she’s become a reluctant cat lady.”

Waverly grinned instantly, while Wynonna’s mouth gaped open in mock offense. “Now hold up, Haught—”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Waverly cut it, joining the redhead. “Here I brought Calamity home to keep _me_ company. But Wy scooped her up almost as soon as I set her loose—”

“Bull. Shit. I wanted nothing to do with that furball—”

“You know,” Nicole swallowed her first mouthful of stew, leaning into Waverly conspiratorially, “I _am_ friendly with some of the folks down at the shelter. I bet I could set her up with a little friend of her own, if she’s so desperate.”

“You know what—” Wynonna downed another shot, setting her glass heavily on the counter. “For a second, I almost thought we were _bonding,_ Nicole.” The heir’s face scrunched in distaste. “But the second your girlfriend walks in, you totally throw me under the bus. Not cool, dude.”

Nicole shrugged, schooling her grin as she shot Wynonna an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Wy. But I think I stand to lose more from her.”

Wynonna’s nose wrinkled again and she grabbed the bottle, striding out of the kitchen. “Great. Well. I think I’m gonna go find Doc. You two can make googly eyes at each other, or whatever other lame shit you had planned.”

Waverly waited until she heard the front door shut before she started laughing. “She’s not going to let you get away with that you know.”

“The teasing?” Nicole grinned. “She can try and stop me. I look forward to it.”


	10. Part Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Nicole, it was too easy to forget what happened, some days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowwwwwwwww, I am a jerk. It has been almost a year since I updated this? For me, a lot has changed since then. And as I continue to write and plot out a new Wayhaught multi-chap (post-apocalyptic AU, anyone?) I wanted to give this a proper ending. Just a little bit of fluff and closure. 
> 
> To anyone that was into this story the first time around, I'm sorry this took so long. And to anyone who is reading this for the very first time, well... enjoy!!

The human talent for compartmentalization is an utterly baffling evolutionary development, one that Nicole pondered frequently in the month following her release from purgatory. She pondered this as Waverly rubbed a mixture of shea butter and coconut oil on her scar, only to wake up the next morning with the skin as persistently pink and puckered as ever. She pondered this as she picked up the phone, her mother’s phone number queued up, only to set it back down again. And again. Rinse and repeat.

She pondered this as she and Waverly talked, sometimes late into the night, about all the heavy, mordant thoughts that crowded around the edges. All their insecurities about who they were and where they’d come from—Waverly’s parentage in question, Nicole’s familial ties tenuous at best. And then sometimes they talked very little, choosing instead to communicate with touches that ricocheted between the feather-light and molten-heavy.

It was too easy to forget what happened, some days.

There was still the Purgatory Sheriff’s Department screaming for Nicole’s attention. Nedley had seemed to begrudgingly (if not somewhat coyly) accept the “family emergency” that Wynonna had concocted in her absence, going so far as to send texts from Nicole’s phone to the Sheriff. She felt guilty about having killed her grandma a second time, but the alternative _(“Hey boss, abducted by a demon. Held captive in literal purgatory. Kind-of-sort-of killed. Sorry I’m late!”_ ) seemed far worse.

Plus, Black Badge never took a day off. The Wyrm may have been a particularly traumatizing experience for the lot of them, but other demons didn’t see it as any cause to go easy (big surprise).

JC never did show up again, so, it was easy enough for Nicole to tuck all her anxieties and shock away for a later date. To pretend that it had (almost) never happened.

Except that sometimes phantom aches would ravage her gut. The scar would tingle, then burn, and she’d start to sweat.

Except that sometimes she had dreams. Vivid dreams. For the first couple weeks, about her family. About the incident, and the Wyrm. And then suddenly, not. Suddenly, they were dreams about some stranger she’d never met before. Some graying older man with a name and a wife and a face that she was for some reason all privy to.

These weren’t nightmares. Nicole had dealt with those before. She’d had to comfort Waverly often enough recently as she’d woken from her own—remnants of the Wyrm’s sordid influence still creeping around her subconscious. On the contrary, the dreams Nicole was having were fairly mundane.

The guy’s name was Dale. He drank Moosehead like a fish, whether it be at home or at Shorty’s. Nicole had dreamt of Shorty’s plenty of times in the past, though usually these dreams involved Waverly and an empty room and very little clothing. To dream of an old man sitting at the bar sipping lager for hours at a time was considerably less appealing. Still, he seemed to keep to himself and was cordial with his wife when he went home, which was more than she could say for many of Shorty’s’ barflies (having arrested a few of them, she was certain of that).

She’d dreamt of him on and off about six nights now, each with stunning clarity, and was only marginally shocked to walk into Shorty’s one afternoon to find him sat there at the bar, glass of Moosehead in hand. She hadn’t yet mentioned Dale to Waverly and wasn’t quite feeling bold enough to approach him herself. But she was at least concerned enough to sit inconspicuously at the other end of the bar, nursing a pale ale for the better part of an hour with sweating palms.

Nicole had endured enough bizarre occurrences lately that she couldn’t muster much surprise that she’d been dreaming about this plain, quiet man, as unremarkable in demeanor as he was in appearance. She was surprised, however, when JC’s gravelly drawl chimed in suddenly beside her. “Old Dale Hoskins,” he began, startling Nicole badly enough that she almost dropped her bottle. She turned to him with wide eyes, heart beating a mile a minute. Her scar seemed to prickle in his company. “Interesting fellow, believe it or not.”

He peered curiously at Dale, flagging down the bartender quickly before turning to Nicole with a genuine smile. “A shame he’s going to die.”

“Excuse me?”

JC ordered himself a Coors, taking his time before answering. “I know the guy has...” he waved his hand, considering, “something of an unassuming aura. But believe it or not—he’s got a great story. An old American transplant, much like yourself. Ran away from home at the age of fifteen to join the circus.”

Nicole looked back and forth between JC and Dale. She was beyond questioning how he knew any of this. That was a given. Why he was telling _her_ , on the other hand… “The circus?”

“Doesn’t quite hold the mystique it once did. But,” he shrugged, accepting his beer from the bartender with a long pull. Somewhere in the background, the slow twang of an old country song played on, syrupy and sad. Dale bopped his head lightly, the hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “The seventies were a strange time, Nicole. Trust me on that.”

She chewed on this new piece of information for a moment. “And what exactly did Dale do in the circus?”

“Shoveled elephant shit, for a while. Tended to the animals. Cleaned up after the performers. And then one day,” he had a twinkle in his eye. A sense of genuine respect, Nicole could see. “He set himself on fire.”

At that, she had to laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“Dale wasn’t brawny enough to be a strong-man. But he thought he still might have a shot at being a superhero. So, he got into the stunt shtick. You ever read _The Fantastic Four_?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. Jessie had loved comic books, as a kid.

“Mister Fantastic was… well, a bit of a stretch—no pun intended. But the Human Torch was easy.”

“So that was his thing? He just set himself on fire?”

“At first. Then there were cannonballs and dips in the piranha tank. All sorts of gags.”

Nicole examined Dale a bit more closely. _That guy?_ she thought. “I don’t know that I believe you.”

JC paused thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “No need. You’ll see for yourself, soon enough.”

She narrowed her eyes, turning to him. “What do you mean?

In the brief time that Nicole had spent with JC, he’d made a habit of speaking as cryptically as possible. So, she was a little surprised when he said, with uncharacteristic directness. “Dale Hoskins is your first charge.”

There were several more questions Nicole could have dumbly asked, but instead, she chose to remain quiet. She watched Dale carefully as she finally finished off her beer, setting it down gently on the bar top to begin peeling off the label.

Her heart felt changed after the experience with the Wyrm, as if one major weight had been lifted, despite the new guilt that lingered. But physically? She was almost unchanged. There was the scar, yes, and the remnant pains. But for the most part, Nicole Haught was the same woman she’d always been.

But JC had plainly told her that she had died in the in-between. That no mortal could return from such a state entirely as they once had been.

“When he dies,” she began quietly, “it won’t be like it was for me, right? It’ll be permanent.”

“He’ll make a clean break, so to speak. Good start for you. Simple.”

“So, you know how it’s going to happen?”

He nodded. “Snow’s coming early next week. He’ll be driving home from work, late. Swerve off the road to avoid hitting a deer and wrap around a tree instead.” Nicole swallowed thickly. A grim end, but it sounded so rote, coming from JC. She looked up only when he placed a hand on her shoulder. “For him, it’ll be almost instant.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” she begrudgingly admitted.

“It’s better than many can hope for.”

“I—” she had so many questions, but found she could hardly voice any of them. “You can see these things, too? Before they happen?”

“I see what I’m allowed.” The implications of that were far bigger than Nicole could rightly ponder. JC continued, “You will too eventually.”

She shook her head, already feeling the headache building. “So, less than a week. That’s all that’s left.”

“For him. You’re already there.”

_“Oh.”_

“And Nicole,” he waited until she turned her gaze to him before continuing. “When it happens, I’ll be there. I was assigned to you before, because you were a special case. But your journey isn’t quite over.”

She mulled over this for a moment, unsure what it would take for her heart rate to return to normal. Finally, she asked, “Assigned by who?”

“The Others.”

“Who are—”

JC stood with a patient smile, slapping down a couple bills onto the bar top—enough to pay for both their drinks and then some. “Give it time, Nicole. You’ll know more than you ever thought you could.”

As the bartender, Jimmy, came over to collect his bills, thanking them, JC motioned over to Dale Hoskins. The dead man’s eyes were glued to the hockey game playing on the television, blissfully unaware. “That gentleman,” JC said, “let him know the drinks are on us.”

 

* * *

 

It was too easy to forget what happened, some days. Even a day when Nicole Haught shared a beer with a literal angel, staring down the soon-dead man who’s soul she would usher into the next life.

It was easy to forget as she peered at her own face in the bathroom mirror, having just brushed her teeth and washed up for bed. She searched for any sign of change, gazing hard into her own eyes, turning her head this way and that. She even, stupidly, opened her mouth wide and stared down her tonsils.

When she heard Waverly chuckling behind her, she jumped, knocking the toothbrush holder off the sink.

“What are you doing?”

“Huh?” she asked, red in the face.

“Just admiring yourself?” Waverly smirked as she leaned against the doorframe. Nicole could see her in the mirror.

“No,” she said hastily, rearranging her toiletries on the sink. “I was just… making sure everything looks normal?”

Waverly’s brow furrowed slightly, but she still smiled, walking forward to loop her arms behind Nicole’s neck. “Why wouldn’t you look normal?”

“I don’t know,” Nicole sighed, equal parts embarrassed and completely unconvinced that she wasn’t somehow… different than before. “I guess because of everything that happened. You know,” she said vaguely. What she really meant was, _Because I died_. But neither of them liked to talk about it much. Particularly not in such stark terms.

Waverly seemed to understand, tightening her hold. Nicole’s arms drifted instinctively to her waist. “It’s been a month, Nicole. If anything was different, we would have noticed by now,” she told her gently. And on one hand, yes, that was probably true. But on the other hand, she had changed. JC had told her as much. And in the next week, things were only going to get weirder.

“You’re probably right,” she sighed. They had talked about the _angel thing_ , as they were calling it. Nicole had explained to Waverly parts of what JC had told her. But there was so much that she herself was not yet ready to face, let alone to work through with someone else. Even if it was someone that she cared for deeply, someone that she loved.

Compartmentalization wasn’t the only uncanny human talent that she excelled in, after all. Avoidance was also quite high up on the list.

She hadn’t yet told Waverly about Dale Hoskins, hadn’t mentioned that JC had found her again this afternoon. It was too soon maybe, despite how little time there was. “Maybe I just… feel different.”

“Do you though?”

Nicole ruminated over this, frowning slightly. “Well. I guess not.”

Waverly smiled again. “You’re making yourself paranoid.”

“Probably,” Nicole muttered, as if the sidearm she’d been keeping next to the bed wasn’t proof enough.

“Look,” Waverly began, cupping Nicole’s cheek. She stroked soothingly with her thumb. “The crazy doesn’t stop coming. I know. It’s enough to put anyone on edge.”

“You can say that again.”

“Even if you were different, or I was different, after everything—would it matter? Some things will still stay the same.”

“Like?”

Waverly levelled her with a gaze, leaning forward a breath later to place a warm, soft kiss to her lips. Sparks to kindling.

“Like that, I guess.”

Nicole gazed at her for a moment, seeing the determination in her gaze. She couldn’t help but smile, pulling Waverly in just a little bit closer.

“Well,” she started, steering Waverly gently into the adjoining bedroom. Her body went willingly, directing Nicole to the nest of blankets and pillows that awaited them. “I don’t suppose I need much more than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope that was at least kind of, sort of enjoyable? Maybe just fitting?


End file.
